


With This Ring

by GrinningValkyrie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Don't know if I have to tag that, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jake Gyllenhaal: Proud Owner of My Ass, Lots of Angst, Marriage, Minor Violence, Sexual Tension, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Unhealthy Relationships, mention of injury, swearing??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrinningValkyrie/pseuds/GrinningValkyrie
Summary: Quentin Beck's old life bleeds into his new one when his estranged wife appears in Venice as he's "battling the Elemental." Realizing that she knows he has no powers, he abducts her to prevent her from revealing his secret. Caught up in Quentin's deceptions, she must find a way to survive life with Mysterio until she can find a way to escape. Things get complicated, however, when the pair finds they each have some unresolved feelings for the other.Follows the events of Spider-Man: Far From Home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS CONTAINS SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME SPOILERS!
> 
> I just saw Far From Home last night and noticed Quentin Beck twirling a wedding band in the scene where he and Peter are introduced. 
> 
> For the movie's purposes, it may have just been a prop for Beck's deception about his home world. But I thought it'd be interesting if it was from him actually being married. And if it was, where did his wife go?

_He’s still wearing his ring,_ you noted as you focused on your estranged husband’s hands. Quentin had always had such beautiful hands, warm and strong. He was speaking to you now, but your ears were still ringing from when your head had hit stone. A concussion, definitely. Although he continued to speak, whatever he was saying simply wouldn’t process in your head. 

Not until those strong, warm, _beautiful_ hands gently gripped your face and tilted it until your E/C-colored eyes met his. You could see the worry etched into his handsome face, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide. Squinting hard, you tried to focus on his lips. Maybe if you watched closely, you could see what he was saying. One word, it seemed, over and over again. _What was it?_ you wondered as your vision began to black over. Finally, he screamed it again as your eyes shut. 

Of course.

It was your name.

* * *

When you first met Quentin Beck, you had recently been hired in his department at Stark Industries. Fresh out of grad school and ready to take on the world, you had immediately idolized Quentin’s work with holographic illusions. Initially, he was only a mentor to you; but as you worked long hours together you grew closer, and your relationship turned romantic.

Well, maybe romantic wasn’t the right word. Not at first, anyway. At first, it was after-hours sex in the lab — hot and sweaty and better than you’d ever had. But after a few weeks of that, you both realized you wanted more from the other, and so sex turned into dating turned into an engagement turned into marriage. It was perfect while it lasted. But just a few weeks shy of your first anniversary, everything went wrong. 

The holographic system was your passion project, but it was Quentin’s life’s work. After Stark had made a mockery of the holographic system, or B.A.R.F. as he had so crudely named it, Quentin went mad. He had always been a little eccentric, but you had never seen him like this before. But things truly reached a breaking point the next day. He tried to get in to see Stark and became so aggressive with Pepper Potts that she had security escort him out and fired him for good measure.

You arrived home that day to find Quentin drinking. Disheveled. Defeated. The worst fight you two ever had ensued.

“I’ve been working on this system my whole life, Y/N! Was I supposed to give that up?”

“You grabbed her wrist, Quentin! Of course she called security and _of course_ she fired you! You should never have laid a finger on her! You’re not thinking, you’re–” You stopped yourself from what you were about to say, but it was too late. Quentin already had that angry gleam in his eye.

“I’m _what_ , Y/N? Crazy?” he asked, and you stared at the ground. He began stalking towards you. “You know what they called me, Y/N? _Unstable._ Do you think I’m unstable?”

“Quentin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“That’s BULLSHIT, Y/N! You and I both know damn well what you meant.”

He got closer, and you took an involuntary step back. Immediately, you knew it was the wrong move. His eyebrows rose in surprise as a hurt look crossed his face, and the room fell deadly silent.

“Are you… are you afraid of me?” he asked softly. “D-do you think I would ever… _ever_ hurt you?”

With a swell of courage, you meant his gaze. “You grabbed her wrist, Quentin. Just because you didn’t hit her doesn’t mean that’s not a violent act. What if you get angry at me?”

Quentin looked caught off-guard and said nothing. But you pressed on.

“What if you get angry at me?!” you yelled, hot tears welling up in your eyes. “Will you grab me? Hit me? What, Quentin?”

“Y/N,” he said shakily, walking towards you again. “I would never–”

“How can I believe you?! How can I believe any of what you say?!”

He had no answer for that, and the tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“I can’t trust you, Quentin. If this is the type of person you are, I can’t feel safe around you.” Your voice sounded numb and hollow.

“Baby, no. No, that’s not true.” He fell to his knees at your feet and grabbed your skirt pleadingly. “I love you, baby, please. I’m sorry, I’ll get help. I swear to God, nothing like that will ever happen again. Don’t leave me, baby. Please.”

His head was bowed as he cried before you. Slowly, shakily, you pried his hands from your skirt and held them in your own. He looked up at you with hopeful eyes.

“ _Never_ again,” you rasped out.

“Never again, baby,” he echoed, tears still streaming down his face. You slowly dropped to your knees, mirroring his body, and cradled his head against your shoulder.

A week later when he knocked out a security guard at Stark Industries, you didn’t bother saying goodbye to your husband. You packed your bags and disappeared before he got home from the police station.

* * *

When you came to, you were alone in a dark room. Your head was pounding, so although you wanted to view your surroundings you were grateful for the lack of light. As your eyes adjusted, you tried to look around, only to realize that a foam neck brace was wrapped around your throat, making it hard to turn your head. A pretty young woman you didn’t recognize entered the room, turning on a dim gaslamp. As the room filled with the pale firelight, her eyes widened as she realized you were awake.

“I’ll, um… I’ll go get him,” she squeaked nervously and fled the room. When she returned, Quentin was with her. Your breath caught in your throat. Even in whatever ridiculous motion-capture suit he was wearing, looking at him still made your heart thunder in your ears. _Stop staring at him like a lovesick child, Y/N, it’s almost been a decade since you left,_ you warned yourself. Still, you couldn’t control the jealous monster that roared in your chest when Quentin placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and, smiling, thanked her for letting him know you were up. She smiled back and left the room, leaving you and your husband alone for the first time since 2016.

“I’m surprised, Quentin, she’s not your usual type.” You made an attempt at a bad joke to mask your fear. His expression remained stoic, although you could see the concern lingering in his eyes.

“Laura is my coworker.”

“So was I,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes.

“Why are you in Venice, Y/N?” he asked lowly.

“Vacation,” you croaked out, and then smiled ironically. “I was told it was a very relaxing place. I guess I was given wrong information.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was so very, _painfully_ familiar. Your brain began to clear a bit and you remembered everything that happened by the canal.

“There was… there was a water monster,” you said faintly, looking to him for an explanation. “You were _fighting_ a water monster.”

“Well, you know how I love to play the hero,” he said grimly.

“But… but you don’t have powers.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I have the holograph system.”

Your eyes narrowed as you garnered his meaning. “None of that… none of that was real?”

“No, Y/N. I created the monster so I could defeat it.”

“So there was never a water monster? It was all you?”

He nodded. A small, proud look appeared on his face, and it set you off.

“So you’re the reason I have a concussion?!” The look disappeared from his face. “You’re the reason all those people were hurt?! Hell, probably killed?!”

“Y/N,” he said slowly, as if talking to a child. Your anger flared as you tried to get up.

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Quentin! You’re a sick, demented fuck and–”

A wave of nausea hit you as your knees buckled. Quentin caught you before you hit the ground. _Fucking concussion,_ you thought as you pushed away from him and sat back on the bed.

He handed you a bottle of Excedrin and a water bottle that you hadn’t seen before, and you snatched them from his hands, causing him to smirk a little. “What, no ‘thank you’?”

“This is your fault, you know,” you growled, wincing at the throbbing in your head.

The smile slid off his face, replaced by a more solemn expression. “I know. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“But you’re not sorry you attacked people?”

He ran his fingers through his hair again in frustration. “You don’t understand yet, Y/N, but you will. I had to.”

“But _why_?”

“The people need a new hero, and I’m going to be that for them.”

“Heroes don’t kill innocents.”

“Don’t be naive,” His voice only hinted at the irritation in his face. “How many innocents died in the Battle of New York?”

“That’s different, Quentin! Those were accidents, casualties.”

“And these are _my_ casualties,” The dark tone in his voice made you shiver. “There have to be stakes, Y/N. Heroes can’t always save everyone, that’s not how it works. This isn’t a fairytale. We don’t all live happily ever after.”

You watched as he glanced at the ring on his hand and the empty finger on your hand. “But you already know that, don’t you, babe?”

Breathing out shakily, you shook your head. “This is wrong, Quentin. You need help.”

“Oh, I have a whole team of people helping me. But you’re welcome to join us, of course.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“I know what you meant. But as you might remember, I’m not too crazy about being called crazy, babe.”

“Stop calling me ‘babe,’” you whispered, staring at the ground.

“Can your husband not call you pet names?” he asked mockingly, and you met his gaze again to glare at him.

“You’re not my husband anymore, Quentin.”

“Well, _technically_ I am. You never filed for divorce. At worst, we’re separated. Til death do us part, and all that.”

At the mention of death, you began to panic. This was not the man you used to know, used to love. Time had made Quentin madder, more dangerous than ever before. Suddenly, it became clear to you what he was capable of. Sweat ran down your back and your eyes stung as you began to panic.

“Quentin, please,” you begged. “Please just let me go home. I won’t bother you anymore, I won’t tell anyone, just please let me go.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he said, a soothing tone juxtaposing the mock-sympathetic look on his face. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

You began outright sobbing. “Quentin _please_. I don’t want to die here, please just let me go, please don’t hurt me.”

Actual concern flooded his features as he sat next to you on the bed. He began to stroke your cheek softly, the way he used to, and although you feared him, you could not help but accept the comfort the small movement brought your treacherous body.

“I’ve already told you, Y/N,” he replied softly. Gently placing a finger under your chin, he lifted your face to his. “I would never hurt you.”

For a bizarre second, you thought he might kiss you. But instead, he pressed his forehead against yours and let his eyes flutter shut.

 _Hit him. Knock him out and escape!_ Your mind urged you. But you couldn’t do it. Not to him.

He pulled away to look at you, and you couldn’t help but yearn for the days when those blue eyes gazed lovingly into your own. There was still some of that there, but it was clouded by remorse.

“I can’t let you go, Y/N. I’m sorry,” He placed a light kiss to your head and stood up. “I hope one day you can understand where I’m coming from. Where _we’re_ coming from.”

He crossed the room to leave. As he reached for the doorknob, he paused and turned back to you.

“And Laura’s really not my type. No one is,” he said softly, looking at you with that almost reverent stare. “No one but you, baby. It’s never been anyone but you.”

With that, he left the room, and as you heard the key scrape and the lock click into place, you broke down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, CAPTIVITY
> 
> Okay so enough of you have been gassing me up about this story that I've decided to continue it! If you're like me, you're here because hearing Jake Gyllenhaal say "Hi, honey" in FFH was enough to make you feel Emotions. 
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out where exactly I want to take this story, but I have a pretty good idea. I don't think it'll be super long, it'll probably just explore the events leading up to the end of FFH. But I promise that I'll do my best to give you a good story!

Quentin sent in Laura to tend to your head injury after he left. As she was checking on your concussion, the two of you made some small talk. You didn’t know why you bothered talking to her. After all, she was technically one of your captors - or at least aiding your captivity. Maybe you were just so starved for interaction with someone who wasn’t Quentin. True, you had only been there for a few hours, but you had come on this trip alone, and you hadn’t had a substantial conversation with anyone in a week.

And anyway, could you really blame yourself? People needed other people, right? Who else could you turn to? Quentin? No way. It was better to keep him at an arm’s length.

Unfortunately, he had different ideas. That night, you awoke to hear someone shuffling in the darkness in your bedroom. Panicked, you flipped on a light, only to see Quentin standing before you. Your panic was only exacerbated when you realized that he was half-dressed.

“W-what are you doing?” you sputtered, looking away, looking _anywhere_ but at his naked chest.

He held up his hands and took a step back in defense. “I’m just getting ready for bed.”

You stared at him and he continued in a softer tone, something almost like sorrow in his eyes.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, if that’s what you thought.”

“It’s not,” you replied abruptly. “I know you wouldn’t… do anything like that.”

There was a beat before your brow furrowed as you processed what he had said. “Why are you getting ready for bed in _my_ room?”

At this, he smirked a little, mischief alight in his eyes. “ _Your_ room? Quite the assumption there.”

“Well, excuse me for thinking you had your own room!” You shot back.

“I do. And I’ve so graciously allowed you to stay here,” He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. “There’s not exactly an abundance of bedrooms in this place. Most of our group is staying at a nearby hotel.”

Crossing the room to a dresser, he pulled on an old t-shirt and you felt a little swoop in your stomach when you realized it was one you bought him. If he noticed your reaction, he said nothing, and you turned your focus back to the matter at hand.

“Then I want a hotel room too.”

He snorted. “Not happening.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not exactly my problem with that idea.”

You only scowled at the comment, but began to protest outright when he pulled back the covers and got into bed next to you.

“Absolutely not!”

At your words, he shot you an incredulous look. “We shared one of these for over a year.”

“That’s when we were together,” you replied coldly, glowering at him. He scoffed and rolled away from you.

“Like I said, Y/N, it’s my room. You’re more than welcome to take the couch, but I’m not leaving this bed.” 

Aggressively, you threw your half of the blankets back and snatched up your pillow. As you walked over to the small loveseat, he shut off the lamp on your bedside table. Unable to stretch out your legs, you curled up on your side, and tried to sleep. You quickly realized, however, that the only blanket in the room was the one on the bed. At home, you had always piled on the blankets, but here, on this cramped sofa, you didn’t even have a sheet to cover you.

You always got cold at night. You knew that. _Quentin_ knew that. And though it was pitch black in the room, and though he said nothing, you could feel the smugness goddamn _radiating_ off the bastard.

Finally, after lying there in what was (quite literally) icy silence, you spoke up.

“Is there another blanket somewhere?”

“Nope,” he answered, and you _swore_ you could hear the smile in his voice.

Huffing with irritation, you stood up and tried to find your shoes in the dark. Your eyes had adjusted, and you could just barely see Quentin sitting up in bed.

“Going somewhere, dear?”

You grit your teeth at the pet name but chose to ignore it. “I’m going to find another blanket.”

“There’s none left in the theater.”

“Then I’ll find a store and _buy_ one!” you snapped, whirling towards him. It was a good thing the room was dark. You could swear your cheeks were crimson with frustration. But as if he could hear your thoughts, Quentin switched on the light and, judging by his smirk, you were right about your cheeks. Of course, this realization only made the blood rush faster to your face.

“Be serious, Y/N. It’s past midnight. Do you really think you’ll find any place that’s still open?” 

_God,_ you wanted to smack that condescending look off his face. “I guess that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

You reached for the doorknob, but missed it. You tried again, and again you couldn’t grab it. It was like the doorknob was somehow mov-

“Quentin!” you snapped, eyes burning with hot tears of frustration. “Do not use those fucking things on me!”

The sly smirk drop from his face and was placed with a more serious expression as he stood up to collect the drone.

“It seems you’re not remembering things to well tonight, Y/N, so let me refresh your memory. You do not get to leave. You are not to leave this building _ever_ unless I say so. Right now, you are not to leave this room. So get that through your head, and I won’t have to resort to using these ‘fucking things.’ Understand?”

Seething, _blinded_ with rage, you unthinkingly rushed him. Looking back on it later, he had had enough time to dodge, to defend himself. But instead he stood and let it happen as you shoved - no, _tackled_ him to the ground. Tripping over your feet, you fell on top of him, your wrist twisting oddly between the two of you. You yelped in pain and pushed off of him, clutching the hurt wrist to your chest.

Breathing heavily, the consequences of your actions suddenly became clear. You must have hit him on the way down, because his cheek was red and a dark spot above his top lip was welling up with blood. _I hurt him._ With a strange, mad look in his eye, his licked the blood away as he stared at you.

“You keep trying to paint me as the monster, Y/N, but I wonder if there isn’t a little monster in you too…” he mused, still staring at you with that strange look.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, unable to rip your eyes away from his face.

“No… you’re not.”

God, you wanted so badly to prove him wrong. To say you felt only remorse. And while part of you did truly feel guilty for hurting him, there was a darker part of you that felt a sick satisfaction for making him hurt. Making him _bleed_.

Mesmerized, you slowly crossed the distance between the two of you. Placing a hand on his wounded cheek, you applied slight pressure. It caused enough pain for his features to tighten a bit, but he didn’t stop you, didn’t move, didn’t so much as _breathe_. You lightened your touch a bit and simply grazed his cheek with your fingertips. Finally, it all clicked into place and you recognized that look in his eye. You hadn’t seen it in many years, but you were sure of what it was: _desire_.

As if he could read your thoughts and was trying to conceal his emotions, his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your palm, obscuring the tightness in his jaw. But with the loss of eye contact, the trance was broken, and you pulled away. Without saying another word, you washed your hands in the sink in the corner of the room, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. You picked up your pillow from the couch and crawled back into bed. 

After a minute or so, the light clicked off, and you told yourself that you were _not_ disappointed when the couch creaked under his weight and not the bed. Feeling a sudden chill, you curled up a little tighter under the blankets. Neither of you said anything else that night, and when you awoke, the couch was bare, save for the spare blanket that he had claimed didn’t exist. You scowled into the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm toying with the idea of changing it from Quentin/Reader to Quentin/OC. The story I have planned out is honestly kinda dark and abusive (including physically from the reader) and I don't want to trigger anyone or turn anyone off from the story by having them be in the main character's shoes. So please let me know what you think about whether I should change it!
> 
> (And please leave comments in general to help motivate me to keep the story going!)


	3. Chapter 3

Really, you were grateful for waking up alone. There, in the light of day, you realized just how twisted the events of the previous night were. That wasn’t the kind of person you were, the kind who attacked people, who revelled in their pain. Maybe the concussion had knocked a screw loose. Maybe this high-stress situation caused you to lash out. _Or maybe,_ a dangerous voice in your head purred. _You’ve always been this way, deep down._

But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t consider the possibility that you had actually _enjoyed_ it. And maybe you would have felt justified had Quentin fought back in any way; but ever true to his word, he didn’t harm you. He claimed he wouldn’t ever, though you doubted it. Some dark part of you wondered just how far you could take it, how much you could get away with before he snapped.

Your musings were interrupted when you heard a soft knock at the door. In came Laura with two suitcases that you recognized as your own.

“How did you get those?”

“Quentin had me check you out of your hotel and get your things,” she responded uncomfortably. You were so relieved to have your things back, to have _something_ familiar in this place that your outrage died in your throat.

Shuffling through the duffel bag filled with your toiletries, your heart dropped as you realized something was missing.

“Where-”

“Looking for these?” Laura held your meds, an apologetic look on her face. “They fell out on the way up the stairs, and I didn’t bother putting them back in. I figured you probably missed yesterday’s.”

“You guessed correctly,” you mumbled, shooting her a look as you grabbed your cup of water and downed the pill. For a moment after, you stared at the cup. “I didn’t have this last night.”

“Quentin asked me to get it for you. He said you’re always thirsty when you wake up.”

You shifted uncomfortably as you drank the rest. He was right, of course, but after what had happened the previous night, this felt off-putting, like a comforting act to lull you into complacency so he could catch you off guard. _Slow down, Y/N, it’s just a cup of water_.

“Where is he?” you asked cautiously. Over her shoulder, you glanced into the hallway, half expecting to see him lurking in the shadows like a Disney villain. It was empty, of course, and you shook off the weird, paranoid, ~~disappointed~~ feeling.

“Attending to business,” she answered lightly, and so very vaguely.

“What kind of business?”

Laura exhaled nervously, and you briefly felt bad for pushing. Briefly. “I think that’s something you should discuss with your husband.”

“He’s not- I mean, I don’t see him as my husband anymore.”

With obvious discomfort, Laura shrugged. “That’s really not my business.”

“Yeah, no, of course not,” you replied lamely.

“But, um… he did say that I could take you out today. You know, to show you Venice, get you some fresh air, that sort of thing.”

You tried to keep from rolling your eyes. _How thoughtful._ Despite your cynical thoughts, however, you felt somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t be cooped up in a dusty old theater forever. _And this could last forever, couldn’t it?_

Shaking off the chill that went down your spine, you forced a small smile. “I’d really like that, if you don’t mind.”

Laura returned the smile. “Not at all. I think you could use some sunlight.”

* * *

As you walked with Laura, the two of you got to talking. Nothing about Quentin, and nothing substantial, but for a bit it felt like everything was back to normal, like you were just on vacation with a friend. With a pang, you realized that if you had met Laura under different circumstances, maybe while you were both working at Stark Industries, you _would_ have been friends.

But now, as far as you were concerned? She was the enemy. She was what currently stood between you and freedom. In fact, you realized… she was currently the _only_ thing that stood between you and freedom. Quentin was busy, she said it herself. He couldn’t keep an eye on you here. And although you didn’t want to resort to it, if it came down to a fight, you were sure you could take her. You just had to wait for the right moment…

Although she had kept the conversation lighthearted, you saw the way Laura had been anxiously eyeing you the whole time, as if you would suddenly vanish into thin air. The two of you had been shopping, and although Laura had what she called their “company credit card,” you bought very little. A gelato here, a necklace there so she wouldn’t get suspicious, but you didn’t want any bags - nothing that would weigh you down. Eventually, enough time had gone by for you to feign hunger - although not having had breakfast, you weren’t completely faking it. The two of you stopped at a nearby bistro and ordered lunch. Once more following your “nothing heavy” rule, you got water and a salad - just enough to give you some energy for what you were about to attempt.

Finally, your moment came when a small band walked in and began to serenade the restaurant. Wine-drunk customers joined in on their raucous rendition of “Volare,” and you leaned in close to Laura so she could hear.

“Can I run to the bathroom quickly?” You made sure to phrase it as a question, hoping that that little detail would make her feel some modicum of control.

Trying and failing to be subtle, she glanced at where the bathrooms were. Satisfied that you couldn’t go anywhere, Laura put on a smile.

“Sure thing!” So chipper, she was, for a liar. “Just hurry back, I wanna order dessert!”

“Will do! That tiramisu looks so good.” So easy, it was, to lie like her.

You actually did go to the bathroom. Partially for appearances, but also because when you started running, you didn’t want a full bladder. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror briefly and smirked. Maybe in another life you could have been a secret agent. _Maybe I still can_. Hope swelled in your chest for the first time since you witnessed the battle. 

Hell, for the first time ever you realized that you could do literally anything with your life, anything at all. Losing your freedom helped you gain perspective, and you wouldn’t take this liberty for granted. Shakily, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You slid the bathroom door open and peeked out to see Laura talking to a waiter. _Now!_ your brain urged you.

Laura had thought the bathrooms were safe. They were the farthest area from the front door, and the only thing near them was the kitchen. But what Laura didn’t know was that you used to work in a restaurant. And that the restaurant had its fair share of grease fires. And that, for safety purposes, all restaurants had to have an escape route from the kitchen…

The glowing sign that read “USCITA” was your guiding light, your North Star. Sparing another glance at Laura to make sure she was still occupied, you rushed through the kitchen and out the back door. 

You were running, sprinting, fast as your legs could take you. Dodging passersby going every which way, you almost started sobbing when you saw a man with the word “Polizia” emblazoned on his chest leaning against a cop car. Shooting over to him, tears actually did start falling from your eyes.

“Thank god!” You wept, grinning wildly at the man before you and sucking in oxygen to soothe your burning lungs. “My- my ex-husband kidnapped me, and I just got away from one of the people helping keep me here, you have to help me.”

The cop only smiled politely at you, raising a brow. _Shit, he doesn’t speak English._

“ _Ayudame_ \- wait, fuck, no that’s Spanish. But it’s similar, they’re both Romance languages, it’s close to that, I know it.”

As you babbled, trying desperately to communicate, the cop only went on smiling. You didn’t notice how the smile became broader until it turned into laughter and your head snapped up.

“What’s so funny?” you snapped angrily. No, you didn’t know Italian, but you were trying your best and-

“You are, Y/N,” he replied in a decidedly American accent, and your blood ran cold.

The word “Polizia” on his shirt became hazy and then faded entirely, as it did from the car he had been leaning against.

“No no no!” You turned to bolt and slammed straight into the waiter from the restaurant, who was grinning that same awful grin as the cop as his apron faded away. 

Over his shoulder you saw Laura with a disappointed look on her face.

“I really hoped you wouldn’t try something like this. He wanted so badly to be able to trust you. Hell, I did too. I think we could have been good friends,” she mused, shaking her head.

Each man grabbed one of your arms. By the lack of response from those around you, you knew that the drones were concealing you. That no one could help you. Realizing you couldn’t escape, you turned to begging.

“Please, Laura. I swear to God I won’t tell anyone about any of this. Please just let me go, I just want to go home.”

“If you had just stuck it out for a few weeks, maybe a few months, he probably could have trusted you enough to let you go. But now… he’s not gonna be happy when he finds out.”

“Then don’t tell him,” you cried - one last, desperate bid at the freedom that was slipping away as quickly as the illusions had.

This time she didn’t respond, but shook her head again. Turning to the guards, she swirled her pointer finger in a circle. “Let’s wrap it up here.”

The false waiter cover your mouth and nose with a wet rag. The last thing you saw before the chloroform took you was Laura climbing into the driver’s seat of the car, disappointment still marring her beautiful features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think! I want to know how you guys are enjoying the story, and I DEFINITELY want your input. A lot of you said you'd prefer I kept the MC as the reader instead of changing her to be an OC, so that's what I'll do! I'm really enjoying writing this, so I hope you're enjoying reading it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday so you guys have to like this chapter!
> 
> WARNINGS: BRIEF VIOLENCE at the beginning

The worst part of it all was the waiting. Quentin wasn’t due to be back until later that night. He’d be meeting with the higher-ups of SHIELD, the fake cop explained as he cuffed you to the bedpost.

“Can’t you just lock the door?” you pleaded, feeling vulnerable and demeaned.

“This is your own fault,” he reminded you. “We wouldn’t have even done that if you had just toed the line today.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Are you serious? You’re gonna blame me for trying to escape my kidnappers?”

He ignored you as he crouched down to check that the cuffs were secure and began to speak again.

“We’ve decided not to tell him until he gets back. He’s got way more important things to deal with, and he doesn’t need to worry about your little jailbreak attempt right now. I’m guessing you’ve got maybe… six hours to come up with a good enough excuse. I’m sure you’ll find a way to wriggle out of this one. Especially given your current position.” He nodded towards the handcuffs and smirked knowingly.

 _Slam!_ You headbutted him as hard as you could.

“ _You bitch!_ ” he roared, cupping the now bloody area at the center of his face. “ _You broke my fucking nose!_ ”

Before he could retaliate, Laura came running into the room and put herself between the two of you. 

“If you even think about touching her, he’ll have your head on a platter,” she warned him lowly. Shooting you one last glare, the man stormed out of the room.

After he left, Laura turned her attention to you. “I don’t think headbutting him helped your concussion at all.”

“No,” you groaned, head throbbing. “But it sure did fix his inability to shut his mouth.”

Laura tsked at you, but there was concern in her eyes. “You shouldn’t provoke Ian. The guy’s got real anger issues.”

“Technically, he provoked me.”

“Judging from the state of his nose, you’ve got real anger issues too.”

“Yeah, well…” you trailed off, not really sure of what to say. There was a beat before Laura changed the subject.

“I, um… I don’t blame you for trying to escape today. I mean obviously I couldn’t let you, and I’d stop you from escaping again-”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re shitty at apologizing?”

Laura smiled sadly. “Would you rather a fake apology or true guilt?”

“I’d rather be lying on the beach right now like I’m supposed to instead of being chained to a bedpost.” At your words, she winced. 

“I know. And for that I _am_ sorry.” She sat on the edge of the bed near you and continued. “You don’t remember me from Stark Industries, do you?”

You shook your head apologetically, but she waved a hand away. “I don’t expect you to, I was in another part of the department. I knew you, though. You and Quentin. I mean, you guys were like the stars of R&D. Both of you geniuses, breaking new ground every day, totally in love with each other… I mean, I honestly thought it was kind of unfair how perfect you two were. And me… I wasn’t anything like that. I wasn’t an inventor or a trailblazer. I was basically content just to do my work and keep my head down. But there was one idea I had, a remote that could be worn as a cuff. Not just for TV either, but to control robots and-”

“Drones,” you interrupted suddenly, remembering the golden band around Quentin’s arm. Laura nodded.

“It wasn’t a terribly complicated idea, but it was an expensive one to develop. I tried to get an appointment with Mr. Stark to see if he would give me a research grant, but he was always booked. But then I scored an invite to some party for A-listers, and I saw him there. So I pulled him to the side to try and explain my situation but he- he just kept _interrupting_ me and kept distracting himself by trying to flirt with me-”

Laura cut off talking for a moment, now simmering with years-old rage. “He didn’t listen to one word I said that night. But Quentin… Quentin did. And he helped me find funding, and to repay him I helped program the prototype to work with his drones.”

You spoke slowly. “I’m sorry that happened to you. But I don’t really see why any of this is relevant.”

“Because,” she sighed. “Because I don’t want you to think that we’re just monsters, hell-bent on causing chaos and glorifying ourselves. I mean, I’m sure some of the people here want that, but not Quentin, not me. This world deserves a better class of hero than it’s had so far. It shouldn’t be a crapshoot of who’s born a billionaire. The people who _deserve_ it should be the heroes. People that can live up to the standards the world has, not assholes like Tony Stark. And I know that this has been incredibly distressing for you, but I’m hoping that you’ll eventually see that this is the price we have to pay for a better world.”

You wanted to tell Laura how deluded she was, how idiotic for buying in to Quentin’s lies. But the way her face had fallen when she described the interaction with Stark, and the way it now lit up talking about creating a better future… you knew nothing you could say would change her mind.

As if she knew what you were thinking, she smiled sadly at you. “I hope one day you see it our way. I really do.”

And with that, she exited the room, leaving you in solitary confinement until Quentin returned.

* * *

“Honey, I’m home!” You heard Quentin’s cheery voice from outside the bedroom door. It swung open and he stepped in. Apparently no one had informed him of the day’s events, because when he caught sight of you, the smile died on his face. 

“Why are you handcuffed? Why are you- why is she handcuffed?” He yelled the last part out the door, but no one answered him. Turning his attention back to you, he cocked his head to the side, and you realized he expected _you_ to tell him. “ _Well?_ ”

“I have no idea! This is a true mystery. You’d better get these things off of me and we can go ask them together.” You shook your wrists a little to gesture to your bonds.

He snorted and left the room. What happened next you didn’t witness in person, but you certainly heard it. At the beginning, it was only murmurs. His voice for a while, then Laura’s intercut with Ian’s harsh tones. You were able to make out Quentin snapping at Ian for interrupting Laura, but then the tones became mutters again. But only briefly. Then Laura got to the climax of her tale.

You heard a muffled sound from Quentin that sounded like “woh?” followed by silence from the other two. You strained your ears to listen better, but you realized that was unnecessary when you heard stomping footsteps coming down the hall and Quentin began to yell.

“She did-” The muffled tone suddenly became crystal clear as he threw open the door. “You did _what_?”

Laura and Ian flanked him like children who had just been forced to tattle and gotten in trouble for doing so.

There was a molten silence as you locked eyes with Quentin. “Who else is in the building?” he asked, never looking away from you.

“Just us and Martin,” Ian answered, confusion evident in his voice.

“All three of you. Get out.” At Quentin’s orders, Ian immediately began to walk away, but Laura hesitated, obviously alarmed.

“Quentin-” she started.

“ _Out, Laura!_ ” he ground out dangerously. With one last worried glance your way, she followed Ian down the hall.

There was silence between the two of you again as you both listened for the exit of the other inhabitants. When you heard the door slam shut, you knew you were in trouble.

Because Quentin didn’t yell. Didn’t charge you or get in your face or get violent in away way. He didn’t even take a step towards you. But then, that wasn’t exactly his style, was it? Quentin worked best with emotions. And he knew you better than anyone, knew that you would match any aggression he showed towards you.

But this… this was worse. In silence, his eyes turned to ice. His right arm was crossed into the crook of his opposite elbow, and his chin rested between the thumb and forefinger of his left head. Thoughtful. Pondering.

Although you tried to keep his gaze, show you were not afraid, anxiety was gnawing at your stomach. You had really done it now, hadn’t you? Perhaps the affection he had once felt for you had kept you safe up until now, but you were sure that this time it had run out. 

Thinking back on your escape attempt, you felt so foolish. Had you really believed he would have let you traipse through the city with only _Laura_ as a guard? And only a few hours ago you were applauding yourself for your cunning. _God I’m an idiot._

Finally unable to stand the silence any longer, you spoke up.

“Look, whatever you’re gonna do to me, however you’re gonna punish me, just do it already,” you commanded, looking at him with a fiery gaze.

He said nothing.

“Are you going to torture me? Kill me? What, Quentin?”

Silence.

You grew more and more frustrated as he continued to stare. You just wanted him to yell, to react in any sort of way - but he was as impassive as ever.

Your tone turned mocking, trying to get a rise out of him. “Oh, that’s it. You won’t hurt me. Right, Quentin? Is it because you still _love_ me? Still obsessed with a relationship that ended a decade ago?”

Of course, it hadn’t really been a decade. Not with the Blip.

“Unfortunately for you, _sweetie_ , I just don’t feel the same way. In fact, I can’t stand the sight of you. That’s why I tried to run away. You _repulse_ me, Quentin. I never want to see you again.”

You waited for the screaming, the roaring, _any_ reaction. For a moment you feared that you had taken it too far. But, face still stoic, Quentin turned towards the door and left the room without saying a word.

Irritated beyond belief and still chained to the bed, you used all the vocal power he had not and screeched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay joking about you guys having to like the chapter but I hope you do! I know it's kinda slow, but I feel like it's a necessary exploration of the characters. Lmk what you think! I'll try to post the next one quicker since not a lot happens here!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts, isolation, starvation, emotional abuse, panic attack.
> 
> As you can tell from the trigger warning, unlike the last chapter, this one has a lot going on. This is a pretty dark chapter, so please be forewarned.

You didn’t see him, or anyone else you knew, for three days. No one to talk to for _three days_. Chained to the bedpost, you had nothing to occupy your time. You could barely sleep with your arms raised above your head and the cuffs digging into your wrists. 

Once in the morning and once at night, two women you didn’t recognize brought you water and marched you to the bathroom (and made you leave the door open and unlocked while you went). They wouldn’t speak to you, or interact in any way. They wouldn’t even given you food.

At first, you thought you could handle the solitude, _welcome_ it, even. You wouldn’t have to deal with Quentin or Laura or even Ian. Hell, that had to be an improvement, right?

Your disposition changed drastically throughout the first 24 hours. Not only was there no one near you, but you were pretty sure there was no one in the theater either. The previous night you had been relieved that Quentin hadn’t come back, but by the second night you were praying he, or anyone else, would come to collect you.

But no one did. One full day in solitary was bad enough, but throughout the three days you were slowly losing it. You tried to get a rise out of the people who showed up for the water and bathroom break, but after the first day without food you were severely weakened and the fight died away.

You marked the hours with a small digital clock on the desk, but after a while you didn’t bother anymore. Watching the clock made the time seem to drag even more than it currently was. As time went by, you begin to panic. You screamed and yelled and cried - but no one came for you. 

_He’s gonna let me die here._ The thought came to you suddenly in the middle of the third day. _He’ll let me starve and I’ll never see anyone from home again, and my parents will have to live the rest of their lives not knowing what happened._

And upon that realization, you began to sob harder than you ever had before. Water was currently the only thing left in your body, but at the rate it was pouring from your eyes you were sure it would be gone soon enough too. And then so would you.

You watched sunlight fade away from the blinds that blocked your view through the window. This would be a miserable way to die - starving and alone. Your body felt like it was shutting down, although you knew humans could live a few weeks without food. Maybe you were a special case, though. Maybe it wouldn’t take so long. And really, if the alternative was to spend the remainder of your life in captivity, maybe death wasn’t so bad…

* * *

You must have dozed off because you woke up to your babysitters uncuffing you. This time though, they set a tray in front of you with boiled vegetables and brown rice alongside the water. Your head snapped up to look at once of the women in confusion, and to your shock she spoke to you.

“Eat slowly unless you want to vomit.” After lending her advice, she fell silent again. You tried to squash down the tiny pinpricks of hope. _Just because he’s not starving you doesn’t mean he won’t eventually kill you._ Your stomach churned uncomfortably as you ate, likely not able to process the food after going so long without it. Not wanting to risk puking, you didn’t finish the food.

After you finished eating, the women led you to the bathroom. This time, there were towels laid out for you on the lid of the toilet. They were letting you _shower_. You almost burst into tears when you felt the hot water warming your skin, scourging the tears and grime from your body. They still made you leave the door open, but the shower curtain provided a level of privacy you were grateful to have.

When you stepped out you were initially nervous to find that your clothes were gone, but relaxed when you saw that another set was laid out on the bed. On top of them was a note written in familiar handwriting: _Get dressed. We need to talk._

* * *

Anxiously, you began to inspect your wrists as you waited for Quentin. They were red and raw, like how your ankles got when you were breaking in a new pair of shoes. Now with the freedom to wander the building, you decided to rummage through the bathroom cabinets for bandages. You managed to find a first aid kit, and you carried the supplies back to your room. 

Quentin entered as you were clumsily trying to tend to your wounds.

“May I?” he asked, nodding towards the gauze and ointment.

_You wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t left me chained up in the first place,_ you wanted to retort. But three days of solitude and hunger had taken the fight out of you, and so you simply shrugged and held out your wrists.

He put on rubber gloves and gently began to apply the antibiotic ointment to your wrists. At the contact, your wrists burned and you sucked in a deep breath.

His head snapped up. “Is that hurting you?”

Again, you didn’t speak, but shook your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, and instead chose to focus on what his hands were doing.

“I was alone for three days.” You hadn’t realized you were speaking until the words were out of your mouth. 

“I know,” he answered quietly.

“I didn’t have any food for three days, Quentin.” You tried to keep your tone steady, but that was hard to do when your entire body was trembling, and your voice cracked slightly on his name.

He finished binding your injuries and sighed. “You tried to escape, Y/N. I had to keep you locked up.”

“Not like this,” you whispered, still unable to look at him. Tears began rolling down your face as you continued. “You didn’t have to leave me without anyone to talk to.”

Quentin shook his head. “What would you have me do? I couldn’t let this behavior go unpunished, Y/N. I’ve tried to be kind up until now-”

“Kind?” you sputtered indignantly. “ _Kind?_ You _kidnapped_ me, Quentin!”

“Because it was necessary! Because you know I don’t have powers, and you would have ruined everything I’ve been working towards these past few years. But I tried to make you comfortable. Gave you the bed, got your suitcases, had Laura take you out so you didn’t go stir-crazy-”

“And you isolated me! You starved me!” You were openly weeping now, anger and misery swirling around your head. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Quentin. Do you know how much starvation hurts? When it feels like your stomach is digesting itself? Or how badly it hurt me mentally to be without human contact? Not to mention the fact that I’ve missed my meds for three whole days, so that’s probably fucking me up too-”

“What meds?” He interrupted, an indiscernible look on his face. You swallowed, feeling like you had said too much.

“Bupropion,” you muttered, cheeks heating up.

“That’s for depression.”

“And anxiety.”

“Why-”

“Don’t change the subject,” you cut him off sharply, madder than ever. “I want an explanation. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, so why did you? Why did you torture me?”

At the word “torture,” he flinched.

“Why, Quentin?” You pressed on, feeling as though you were going to boil over with rage. The tears were still streaming down your face as you shoved him, trying to provoke him into answering. “Do you hate me that much? Is that what all of this was about? Are you trying to kill me for leaving you?”

You had been sucking in shallower and shallower breaths as you questioned him until finally you were hyperventilating. Your chest felt tight and so heavy, and you clutched a hand to it to try and rub away the pressure. 

“I’m gonna die here, aren’t I? You’re going to kill me, I know it, and no one will ever know what happened to me,” you blubbered, fear now having completely replaced anger.

In panic mode, you jerked up abruptly and began to pace, trying to do something with all the nervous energy, but it didn’t help. Shakily, you sank to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest, trying to slow your breathing and focus on anything besides that feeling of dread in your chest.

Quentin crossed the room and slid down the wall next to you, carefully stroking your back as you sobbed into your knees. After letting you weep for a few minutes, he began to speak in a soothing tone.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, being sure to keep his distance apart from rubbing your back. “You’re safe now, I promise. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I was just angry, baby, it’ll never happen again.”

You were fairly sure something similar would happen again the next time Quentin lost his temper. But you wanted so desperately to believe that he meant those words, that you would be safe, and so you let him continue to comfort you.

When your sobbing had died down and your chest unclenched, he tenderly pulled you into his lap and cradled you. Your head leant against his chest, and his lips were pressed to the top of your head. As he stroked his thumb against your knee, you unthinkingly curled closer into his chest, trying to ignore the sigh he released when you did so.

After a few minutes, or maybe hours (who could say how long you sat there?) he cleared his throat. “I think we should both go to bed.”

You nodded, head brushing against his chin, but made no movement. Neither did he.

“Y/N?” he murmured. For the first time that night, you met his eyes - those _beautiful_ blue eyes that you once loved so much, currently swimming with confusion.

Tilting your head upwards, your faces were inches apart. He froze as you stroked his cheek with your hand. Slowly, _painstakingly_ slowly, you kissed the corner of his mouth. He sighed the same way he had when you curled into his chest. 

Somewhere deep inside, a voice was yelling at you just how very wrong this was, but you paid it no mind as you brushed your lips ever-so-gently against his. Again, he remained still, as if afraid that movement would scare you away. Bolder now, you kissed him, softly biting his lower lip. He _growled_ , and you shivered at the flickers of pleasure the noise brought you. 

Scooping you up into his arms, he carried you over to the bed as you continued to place light kisses along his jaw. When he laid you down, he began kissing down your neck, flicking his tongue over your pulse as you exhaled a shaky breath. You moved to wrap your arms around him, but he grabbed your wrists and held them together.

You gasped in pain and his head snapped up. Quickly, he released your wrists, but it was too late. The spell was broken.

“Get off of me, Quentin,” you ordered, your voice strangled as you tried to recover from your arousal.

His face grew somber as he realized what he’d done. “Y/N-”

“Get off!”

He did as told, and you straightened out your shirt where your bra had become exposed. Massaging your wrists, you looked away from him.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” you said, your hair falling in front of you, concealing your face. “You don’t… I’m in a very vulnerable state right now. And it’s your fault. It’s because of you. And you do not get to- to comfort me. Or kiss me or touch me, or anything like that. Not when you’re the reason I’m feeling the way I am. You don’t get to take advantage of me.”

Feeling a surge of confidence, you looked him directly in the eye. “We’re not together, Quentin. You’re my kidnapper. That’s it. And despite what you used to be to me, that’s all I’ll ever be able to see in you again.”

He was panting heavily, eyes still dark with arousal. Apart from that, though, you couldn’t get a read on him. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but then he just huffed sardonically to himself and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

That night, even with both blankets, the room felt colder than it ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope the action in this chapter made up for the lack of it in the last one! Let me know what you think!
> 
> I'm putting together a playlist of songs that remind me of Quentin so I can listen when writing. If you have any suggestions, please comment them below!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I absolutely LOVED writing this chapter. This is a real turning point for our MC, and also an exploration into Quentin's side of the story and why he feels justified. Also I love writing jealousy so this was fun. I hope you enjoy!

Quentin didn’t isolate you again, but you didn’t see much of him either during the next few days. And even then, he barely spoke to you. Angry, undoubtedly, that you had rejected his advances, he only addressed you when it was absolutely necessary. While you weren’t exactly mourning the loss of your conversations, it was nevertheless uncomfortable to be sharing a room with this tension between the two of you.

Of course, that didn’t mean you wanted the tension to break. It was better this way, wasn’t it? Better for Quentin to keep his distance. The night you two kissed… that was a moment of weakness. A product of the psychological torture he inflicted on you combined with being off your meds. Under normal circumstances, that never would have happened.

_But these still aren’t normal circumstances, are they?_ asked the nasty voice in your head. _You might fall victim to the same weakness._

But that was ridiculous. _Of course_ you wouldn’t give in to those urges again. That part of your relationship with him, of your _life_ , had been over for years. Even so, you couldn’t help the little twinge burrowing into your thoughts when he didn’t come back to the room one night.

Initially, you thought he was just meeting with those SHIELD people again as he did during the day. But when you woke up the next morning, the couch looked completely undisturbed. Maybe he had gotten up early and straightened it out? But no, there wasn’t even an impression from his body in the cushions.

You didn’t find out where he had gone until about an hour later. Curled up on the bed, you were reading the book you had brought for the beach. You looked up as the door creaked open and Quentin stepped in. 

His hair was tousled in a way that made him look a decade younger, in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. His clothes, though, were wrinkled, like they had been thrown in a pile overnight. But the smell was what made you finally connect the dots. The musky scent of cologne he only wore when-

“You went on a date,” you blurted out. He looked at you, head cocked to the side, and your cheeks burned. “That’s, um… that’s the cologne you always wore when we used to go out.”

A lazy, knowing smile graced his handsome features. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t. I _don’t_ ,” you corrected, cheeks heating up more as he continued to grin. “It’s not my business if you go on dates.”

“I wouldn’t really categorize it as a date. It was more so... stress relief,” he said lightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip tantalizingly. “ _Physical_ therapy.”

He looked curiously at you, as if trying to gauge your reaction to his words. You huffed and threw him a scowl. “You’re a pig.”

Shrugging, he smiled that smug, all-knowing grin again. “I thought you said it wasn’t your business?”

“Exactly. So I don’t want to hear about it.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because he shot you a patronizing look. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“ _Hardly_ ,” you snorted. Of course, he wouldn’t let it go, not now that he knew he had you.

“Now, honey,” he spoke in a condescending tone. “I know you still have some unresolved feelings for me. It’s perfectly natural, we used to be married. But you’re my ex. And despite what you used to be to me, that’s all I’ll ever be able to see in you again.”

You tensed as he threw your words from the last fight back at you. “I was _extremely_ vulnerable the other night-”

“And I took advantage of you, I know. Second verse, same as the first,” he drawled. Grabbing the end of the bed frame, he leaned in towards you as if about to confide a secret. “But, uh, honey? Why don’t you think back on the other night and answer this for me - who made the first move? Or first moves, plural? Because I can tell ya one thing - it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

Absolutely furious, you hurled the book towards him. He easily caught it, which only exacerbated your rage.

“Temper, temper,” he tsked, tossing the book lightly on the bed, just slightly out of your reach. “First poor Ian’s nose, and now this?”

You only glared at him.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that you _might_ just have some anger issues?”

“And yet _you’re_ the one killing people because your boss hurt your feelings.” You pouted mockingly, speaking the last few words in a baby voice. The smile dropped from his face, replaced by a far more dangerous look.

Quicker than you could react, he grasped the nape of your neck - not enough to hurt, but enough to keep your head in place.

“It’s so easy for you to diminish my pain,” he muttered, anger glinting dangerously in his eyes. “Now that you don’t have to pretend to care about me.”

His words caught you off guard, enough to make you momentarily forget your anger. Instinctively, you were about to reply that you had never pretended any of your feelings towards him, that you had once loved him but you couldn’t just… but, of course, that’s what he wanted you to do. That’s how his games worked. He derailed the conversation away from the actual problem, he turned it on you, made _you_ out to be the bad guy. It didn’t matter if what he was saying was true or not, only that it distracted you. This time, though, you wouldn’t fall for it.

“That’s not going to work, Quentin,” you spoke steadily. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t everything, though? It all revolves around you and what you want.”

“I could say the same about you. You’re causing all this suffering for your own gain.”

He shook his head and released yours from his grip. “It was never abou- it was never about my gain, Y/N! That’s what you don’t understand, and that’s what you’ve never understood. Everything I did at Stark Industries was to promote the greater good. _Stark_ is the one who made it all about himself and his daddy issues. Everything I do _now_ , it’s still for the greater good. It’s not clean, it’s not easy, but peace never is. And you- you still refuse to see the bigger picture!”

Laughing in disbelief, he ran his hands through his hair. “You know what your problem is, Y/N?”

“Please, Quentin, tell me, I’d love to-”

“You know what your problem is? Is that you’re so goddamn _hellbent_ on what _you_ think is right, that you don’t even stop for a _second_ to consider someone else’s point of view! But you didn’t support me back then, when you were my _wife_ , so I guess I must be a tad bit deluded thinking that you could open your mind even _marginally_ now!”

To that, you had no response. Once more, he ran his hands through his hair and huffed out a breath, trying to calm down. “It’s so easy for you to paint me out to be the bad guy. So easy for you to make me into your perfect villain. But for a second, just a second, try to see things from my point of view. You spend your life working on this technology - cutting edge, never-before-seen. Hell, part of you expects a Nobel Prize. And you’ve got a pretty girl at your side, someone you love, and life is perfect.”

You winced a little when he referenced you, but didn’t interrupt.

“And then- then everything goes to _shit_ , all at once. Your boss makes a mockery of what was supposed to be your breakout invention. And, admittedly, you overreact. You’re under duress, you made some bad choices. And that person who was supposed to be with you until death did you part? They took the express train out of town without so much as a note. And somehow, your boss, the most selfish man in the world, who used to be an _arms dealer_ whose actions led to far more deaths than mine ever could? He’s living the dream. He’s got his money and his fans and his girl and _your_ invention. And although he’s a selfish bastard, he’s living it up while you suffer. The world sees him as a hero, because they don’t know what he truly is. 

“And they believe in him, and of course he fails them, because it is his _nature_. Because he’s never been a hero - just a rich playboy with a robot suit. He didn’t earn it, any of it. He acted however he wanted without any consideration for the people he was stepping on to reach his goals. And you _know_ that had you the same resources as him, you would have done better. Would have _been_ better. Would have given it your all, because you know what heroes mean to people. You know how important it is to have something to believe in. Wouldn’t you want to give that to the world?”

He ended his monologue quietly, looking at you with passionate, imploring eyes, and for once… for once you got it. Where he was coming from, why he was doing what he did. You didn’t agree with it by any means, but you suddenly saw with clarity what had been obscured before.

Quentin was a scientist, an inventor. A fixer. Of course he wanted to fix the world. And this was how he thought he had to go about doing it. Finally, you understood.

Unfortunately, he took your silence as rejection. He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know why I expected you to understand-”

“I do,” you cut him off, surprising even yourself with your words. His head snapped up. “I- I didn’t before but… I finally think I understand why you’re doing this. And to be clear, I’m not condoning it, and I think you’re going about this _completely_ the wrong way, but… I understand why.”

He smiled sadly. “Leave it to you to manage to criticize me even when you’re trying to be understanding.” 

You wanted to say something, but you didn’t know what. Tenderly, he brushed your hair behind your ear, slowly letting his hand graze down your cheek in a way that made your heart clench. Smiling that same, sad smile, he spoke again.

“Don’t ever change, Y/N.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, please let me know what you think! Again, I LOVED writing this chapter so I really wanna hear your opinions!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, sorry it took so long for me to update! Life has been hectic. Just a warning, there's some VIOLENCE and MENTION OF BLOOD/BRUISES in this chapter. I tried not to make it too graphic, but just wanted to give y'all a heads up. I hope you enjoy!

That conversation put you at a strange place with Quentin. Strange, but better, you supposed. You might even go as far as to call it a good place. But then again, you were still his prisoner, so maybe “good” was stretching it a bit. 

But your interactions with him, your conversations, weren’t as strained. It was kind of funny, actually. Just the other day you were certain you needed to keep your distance from him. Now, though… well, you didn’t exactly try to avoid him. Again, you told yourself that it was a survival tactic, that you just wanted company; but you were only lying to yourself. Truthfully, living in close quarters with Quentin had reminded you of the little things that drew you to him in the first place.

The way his eyes lit up when discussing his work, the way his laugh was far higher-pitched than one would expect when he was _really_ laughing, the way he rolled up long sleeves when working, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms…

Although Quentin let you hear none of his plans, he began to allow you to attend the drone simulations. During each demonstration, you tried to focus all of your attention on the dazzling images before you. Somehow, though, your gaze always found its way back to him. 

Him, in that hideous gray mocap suit and ridiculous fishbowl. If someone asked you to describe the most bizarre outfit you’d ever seen, this would be it. Even so, you couldn’t help the little flutters in your stomach at the smug look on his face as he watched his creation. 

_That_ reminded you of the old days too. The arrogance, the conceit. Not that it was undeserved, of course. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the things that you found most attractive about him. When he was good at something, he knew it, and he owned it.

As if he could hear your thoughts, he caught your gaze and shot you that cocky little smirk of his. Trying to ignore the heat you felt when you locked eyes, you tried not to return his grin and quickly looked away. Still, when you dared to glance back over at him there was a definite look of triumph on his face that you somehow _knew_ had nothing to do with the machine.

* * *

Quentin found you later up on the catwalk, your legs dangling off the edge. At first, you didn’t hear him approach, and the sharp creak when he stepped on the metal platform made you jump out of your skin.

“I’m not here to push you off, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he quipped with _that_ grin, that smile that was only for you. You mashed down the flipping in your stomach.

“I didn’t expect you to. If you were going to kill me, you probably would have by now,” you stated matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes and sat down next to you. “God, could you lighten- shit, sorry.”

You winced as the fishbowl bonked you on the head. Rubbing the sore spot, you glared at him. “Could you take that damn thing off? You look like you’re in one of those bubbles at the zoo to get up close to the prairie dogs.”

He raised a brow at you, still smiling. “Let it never be said that you’re derivative, Y/N.”

“You know me. I keep it fresh.”

“And now you sound like a middle-aged dad trying to seem hip to the youngsters.”

“Shut up,” you growled jokingly, shoving his shoulder lightly.

His smile died down a little as a more serious look graced his features, and your cheeks turned red as you regretted touching him. Regretted causing that yearning look he tried and failed to hide. Regretted the touch that made warmth radiate through your fingers, up your arm, and directly into your chest.

Clearing your throat, you changed the subject. “So, Prague next, huh? Why there?”

The playful grin returned to his face as he caught on to your prying. “Not telling.”

You shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Picking up the fishbowl, Quentin clambered to his feet and headed toward the stairs. “I have some things to finalize before the move. Do me a favor and don’t fall to your death.”

“I’ll try my best,” you called after him sarcastically. He didn’t reply, so you figured that he must have been out of earshot by then. Sighing, you leaned your head against the barrier of the catwalk.

“Your best may not be good enough,” a gruff voice came from the opposite end of the bridge, and your head snapped towards the noise. “Accidents _do_ happen, you know.”

“‘Course they do,” you replied in annoyance. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Ian stepped out of the shadows, and you briefly imagined him as the Phantom of the Opera, stalking the catwalks for his next victim. A chill went down your spine as you realized who that would be in this situation.

“What brings you ‘round these parts?” You backpedaled, trying to lighten the situation with an anxious smile. Your stomach turned as you realized the theater had emptied. Quentin’s footsteps had long since faded, and with a sinking feeling, you knew he wasn’t close enough to hear you. _Or to save me._

“Taking a walk, trying to figure some things out. See, I’ve got a problem that needs solving.”

“Well, good luck with that. Hope you figure it out soon!” you chirped nervously, climbing to your feet and slowly backing away from him.

Within seconds, Ian had crossed the distance to the middle of the catwalk where you stood. He didn’t touch you, but he was far too close for comfort.

“Oh, I’ve already got an idea on how to solve this particular problem.”

Up close, you could see the purple bruise that bloomed around his broken nose. Unfortunately, he noticed you staring.

“Yeah, you really did a number on me, little girl,” he chuckled mirthlessly. You wanted to bite back that he was _at most_ a few years older than you, but the dangerous look in his eye made you hold your tongue. “But don’t worry. I’ve forgiven you for that. Bygones, you know.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek and observed you with a calculating gaze. “But what I cannot ignore is the distraction you’re creating for Beck.”

You gaped at him. “I’m _distracting_ him? Believe it or not, I didn’t choose to be here!”

“And that’s unfortunate,” he agreed coldly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re causing unforeseen delays in our plan. Beck may be taking point on this, but it’s equally important to all of us. And I’m not gonna let anything get in the way of that.”

By that point, he had you pressed up against the rail of the catwalk. It creaked a little against your weight, and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how old this building was.

“Ian,” you began shakily, trying to soothe his temper. “I think you and I just got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry about the nose, I guess I just can’t take a joke. But you really don’t need to worry about me being a distraction, I won’t interfere or cause any more trouble…”

You continued to babble excuses and veiled pleas, but he only smiled ominously. Dread settled in to the pit of your stomach.

“Such a pity for a young life to have to end so soon,” he mused. Quicker than you could react, he lifted you up and held you against the edge of the railing. “But we’ve all got to make difficult decisions for the greater good.”

He started to lift you up over the rail and tipped you over. Full-blown panic and adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you clawed at his hands, but a well-placed backhand slammed into your temple and made you see stars. Shutting your eyes tight, all you could do was pray for a quick death.

But you didn’t fall. For some reason Ian froze, and you were half-suspended over the other side of the rail. Daring to open an eye, you saw a lean, blond man standing on the catwalk with a gun aimed at Ian. The man tsked Ian with a smile that didn’t match the hostility in his eyes.

“Now, now, now! That’s no way to treat a lady,” he admonished Ian, who let out a growl.

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“On the contrary, I’m just about the only person this does concern at present. Barring you two, of course.”

“Roberts, I’m warning you-”

_Click._ The man called Roberts cocked the gun and raised an amused brow. “You’re warning _me_? Forgive me, Ian, but I have to point out that only one of us has a gun, and it isn’t you.”

Ian glared at Roberts.

“Now, do us all a favor and put the lady back on solid ground.” His tone was somewhat playful, but the command could not be mistaken.

Glowering, Ian lowered you back on to the catwalk. Relief washed over you, but only for a second. Ian charged the other man, who shot him in the leg without hesitation. The echo of the gunshot thundered throughout the auditorium, and you heard worried shouts from outside.

Ian grabbed his shin, howling in pain. You tried to tear your eyes away from the sight, but you fixated on the blood. A gentle hand on your shoulder made you jump, but it was only Roberts, looking at you with concern in his brown eyes.

“Are you alright?”

You didn’t answer his question, still glancing over his shoulder at the screaming man on the ground. As he noticed this, he softly grabbed your shoulders and turned you away from the sight.

“Better not to have that ingrained in your memory.” You wanted to tell him it already was, but the words wouldn’t come out. In shock, you slid down to the floor, leaning against the railing you’d been dangling over only minutes ago. The few people still in the building stormed the auditorium, shouting words you couldn’t understand with the gunshot still ringing in your ears.

You heard pounding footsteps up the stairs to the catwalk. Although your back was facing him, you knew that Quentin had been the first one up the stairs - the change in Roberts’ behavior said it all. He completely straightened out, like a soldier whose commanding officer had just entered the room. Despite the cacophony of shouting from below, the only noise you could focus on was the quick pants and whimpers emitting from Ian.

“Y/N,” called Quentin. His voice was quiet, but you knew him well enough to pick out the anger in it. Slowly, you turned to face him. Whatever bruise was currently forming from Ian hitting you must have been bad, because you watched the anger in his face transform into white-hot fury.

“Wes,” he spoke what you assumed was Roberts’ first name. “Take her out of the building.”

“Yes, sir.” A pair of firm hands clasped your arm and helped raise you from the floor. Quentin’s eyes never left your tear-stained face.

“Quentin-” you started, but cut yourself off at the mad look in your eyes. You had only seen it a few times before, and you knew better than to stick around while he was like this. Wes gently ushered you away and down the stairs, and you tried not to imagine how Quentin would punish Ian. Apparently only Laura had entered with Quentin, and she helped Wes guide you out the door.

As soon as it slammed shut behind you, muffled yells rang out. Then screaming. Then silence. Exhausted, emotional, and in pain, you latched on to the nearest trash can and vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, I love hearing from y'all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may start to get more sparse now that the semester has started. I'm gonna try and update every 1-2 weeks, so please be patient with me :)

Holding an ice pack to your now-tender eye, you waited for Quentin to come to you. He didn’t show up. Initially, Wes and Laura both stayed with you, but after making sure you were okay, Laura went back to the hotel to brief the others on what had happened, promising to return as quickly as she could. 

For about two hours, that left you alone with Wes. During most of that time, you didn’t, _couldn’t_ talk. Thankfully, he filled the silence talking about his life, his work with Stark Industries, anything except what had just occurred on the catwalk. With the amount of information he was giving you, you could likely steal his identity. Still, it was nice to have the company, and you quickly took a liking to him. 

Wes was a little too charismatic for his own good - or maybe for _your_ own good. You felt comfortable around him. Like old friends, despite the fact that you knew next to nothing about him. When he told you his full first name was Westley, you couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, relief apparent in his eyes. He must have been glad to get a reaction out of you after that prolonged silence.

“Nothing, it’s just… your name.”

“Oh, well, thank you. It’s wonderful to know that you think I’ve got a funny name.”

“No,” you shook your head slowly. “It just reminds me of a character from a movie.”

He smiled at you, broadly and warmly. “Which one?”

“ _The Princess Bride_. One of the main characters is named Westley. For a while he’s a pirate that goes by the name ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts,’ so…”

“So Westley Roberts. Got it,” he replied with an even bigger grin. You tried to return the smile, although you were sure it came out more like a grimace. Unfortunately, your eyes settled on the blood spatter staining his clothes.

“Could you please take your shirt off?” you whispered.

“At least buy me din- ah, shit.” He swore as he followed your gaze. With an apologetic wince, he began to unbutton the white shirt and threw it in a trash can. He began to unzip his jeans as well, but you stopped him.

“That’s- that’s alright. I can’t see the… it’s not visible on your pants,” you stuttered.

Of course, that was the exact moment Laura returned from the hotel. She took in Westley’s shirtless form and groaned.

“You really picked now to start showing off your abs?”

Wes rolled his eyes. “My shirt was covered with… well, it was stained.”

Laura nodded at him with suspicion and then sat beside you. “Jesus, you’re pale,” she remarked worriedly. “And sweaty.”

“Trying to woo her, Laura?” Wes quipped.

“Only if it’s working,” she replied with a grin.

“I’m prepared to ride off into the sunset with you,” you declared, though your tone was too hollow to sell the joke. She gave a sympathetic smile in response. 

Opening up a suitcase you hadn’t noticed her bring in, Laura grabbed a t-shirt out and threw it to Wes. “I grabbed your stuff. Most people are heading to Prague now. I don’t think they wanna stick around for Beck’s temper.”

Nodding with understanding, he put on the shirt and winked at you. “Sorry to disappoint, gorgeous, but I usually don’t let women see me shirtless until the second date.”

Laura groaned again. “If I pay you, will you stop flirting with her?”

“Not likely,” he replied, shooting you a wicked grin that made your cheeks heat up.

Clearing your throat, you changed the subject. “Laura?”

“Mhm?”

“Is Quentin still...occupied?”

At your question, her smile fell. “He, um… no, technically, he’s in his room, but…” You tilted your head forward with a nonplussed expression on your face. “Y/N, I think he should be alone right now. He wouldn’t even talk to me when I went upstairs.”

You stood up shakily, and quickly, both people rushed to support you. “I’m fine,” you muttered with embarrassment. Then, louder, “I need to see him.”

The two shared a worried look. “Y/N,’ Laura said. “He’s in a bad place right now. I think seeing you like this may just set him off.”

Realizing you weren’t about to back down, she sighed, and Wes piped up. “If you need help, I’ll be nearby. Just call for me.”

He squeezed your shoulder encouragingly.

“I will,” you replied, unable to keep from smiling back at him. Realizing he had let his hand linger too long on your shoulder, he removed it and it fell to place back at his side.

With a quick, nervous smile to Laura and Wes, you threw out the ice pack and exited the auditorium.

* * *

You rapped twice on the bedroom door before trying to open it, but discovered quickly that the knob wouldn’t turn. _Locked._

“Go away, Laura.” Quentin’s growl was muffled by the wood.

“It’s not Laura,” you called back. Silence met your reply, and for a moment you thought he wouldn’t open the door, or even acknowledge you; but then you heard the scrape of a desk chair and footsteps.

Although it had only been a few hours since you last saw Quentin, his appearance had changed drastically. Though he obviously must have won the fight, there were still cuts and bruises spread around his face. Instead of that god-awful mocap suit, he now wore sweatpants and a tank top that failed to conceal the bruising on his torso. His hair was mussed, and judging by the reek emanating from the room, he had been drinking. The bottle of whiskey and lowball glass on his desk confirmed it.

“Can I come in?” you asked hesitantly. He didn’t answer, but opened the door wider so you stepped through. He was staring intensely at your face in a way, and you realized the bruise had likely fully formed by now.

With embarrassment, you started to untuck your hair from behind your ear to cover the area, but then he lightly touched your wrist to stop you, and you lowered your arm again.

Tenderly, as if dealing with a baby bird, he brushed a thumb over your cheek. You tried not to wince at the soreness that came with it.

“Are you alright?” He broke the silence, and you replied with a quick, sardonic smile.

“Never better.”

He grunted, clearly not buying it.

“Quentin…’ you spoke again carefully, as if navigating a minefield. “What did you do to Ian?”

“I got rid of him for you,” he murmured darkly, sending a chill down your spine as he continued to stroke your cheek.

“What does that mean?”

He let his hand drop down to his side. “Don’t ask me that, Y/N.” That gruff response was answer enough for you.

You turned away from him, eyes stinging. Imagining all the awful ways Quentin could have killed Ian, you felt woozy. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps you were better off not knowing.

Softly, he guided your cheek so you turned towards him again. You could see the rage brewing on his face as he continued to examine the bruise.

“He should have never been able to lay a hand on you,” Quentin spoke in a low tone. 

“It’s not really a big deal, it’ll heal in a few-”

“ _Don’t._ ” At his command, you fell silent. The anger in his eyes was interspersed with remorse, and finally it dawned on you.

“You think this is your fault.”

He was still for a moment, then slowly nodded.

You exhaled quickly with incredulity. “Quentin, you weren’t anywhere near me, you couldn’t have stopped him.”

“Except that I was.” His tone was sharp and stilted, and the agitation in his voice was evident. “Except that I was right FUCKING there! Just five minutes before it happened! He could have _killed_ you, Y/N, and-” 

In his rage, he couldn’t finish the thought, and you quickly began to speak again. “You couldn’t have known he would try to pull this shit. He seemed pissed that I broke his nose, but neither of us had any clue that he was harboring this much resentment, babe, and you can’t possibly… blame yourself. For this.” Your rant slowed to a halt as you tensed up, realizing what you had just called Quentin.

His head snapped up, eyes meeting yours, when you said that word. Not having had taken a breath during your rant, you were panting heavily while he regarded you with quickly darkening eyes. You wanted to tell him that it was an old force of habit, but even in your head, that sounded like bullshit.

With anxiety flipping in your stomach, you stepped forward to the foot of the bed where he now sat. Your trembling arms reached out and pulled Quentin close to you, the top of his head resting just under your chin. Your right arm rested on his back as your left hand softly stroked his hair downwards, the way you used to do when he had a stressful day.

For a moment, you worried that you had overstepped your bounds, but he encircled you in the warmth of his arms and you felt at ease once more.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “for wanting to protect me from him. For caring enough to try.”

He exhaled with content in response. After about a minute of quiet, he pulled you in a little tighter. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you. I would tear this world _apart_ before I let anything hurt you.”

You bit your lip lightly, trying to calm your fluttering heart and quickening breaths. Although you tried to bury the thought, you nonetheless were certain that for him, you would do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think! Your comments keep me going!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I'M SO SORRY! I know it's been a month.
> 
> But you guys - it's finally time for SMUT!
> 
> I've never written it before so please be kind. It's basically the entire second half of the chapter so if you don't want to read it, you can stop after they start making out and decide to go back to the hotel.
> 
> ALSO it's like double the length of a regular chapter to try to make up for me not updating quickly.
> 
> Enjoy!

The move to Prague went smoothly. The hotel you were all staying in wasn’t fancy, and you still had to share a suite with Quentin, but at least here you had your own bedroom. By the time you finished unpacking, you were exhausted. The flight from Venice to Prague had only been two hours, but coupled with the events of the past few days and your subsequent lack of sleep, it felt like forever. 

You looked forward to napping, but as soon as you laid down, there was a knock on your bedroom door. There was Quentin, leaning against the frame and once more in that hideous suit.

Examining him up and down, you snorted. “If you’re trying to seduce me, this isn’t exactly your best strategy.”

He leaned in close, mischief dancing in his eyes. “If I was trying to seduce you, you’d know it.” His words curled alluringly in your ears before he continued. “Right now, though, I need you to get dressed.”

You looked down at the old tank top and cotton shorts you currently wore. “What’s wrong with this?”

“In my eyes? Nothing. You should wear only this, forever,” he replied, eyeing you in a way that made you realized just how revealing the outfit was. When you self-consciously crossed your arms over your chest, his eyes moved their way up to meet yours again. “But we’re going out tonight, and I’m sure you’ll wanna look a little nicer.”

He started walking away, and you called after him. “Where are we going?”

With a wicked grin over his shoulder, he answered. “We’re going to the carnival. I want you to watch me work.”

* * *

The sundress you wore was a little too light for the chill of the night, and goosebumps ran up the arm and to the hand that was tucked into the crook of Westley’s elbow. You turned to speak to him, only to find that he was already staring at you. 

“ _Ahem._ ”

He glanced up at you with an apologetic grin. “Surely you can’t blame me for admiring a beautiful dress.”

You snorted lightheartedly. “Yeah, right. I suppose you were admiring the lace design on my chest?”

“Extensively.” He grinned that grin that you couldn’t help but return.

“So how’d you get stuck being my babysitter tonight?”

“I volunteered.” At his answer, you shot him a look of disbelief.

“What, and miss all the action?”

“On the contrary. We’ll have a front row seat. It’s hard to truly appreciate a play when you’re on stage crew. Plus, we all know how much trouble you can be, and I’m the only one who can handle you.”

You elbowed him lightly, and he grunted in discomfort. Giving you a mock-irritated look, he continued. “Consider me proven wrong. You are truly a wild beast that cannot be tamed.”

“That’s more like it.”

From seemingly nowhere, Quentin appeared before you with Laura. She was apparently anxious, basically trembling with nerves.

“You guys ready for the light show?” she asked. Wes answered her, and the two had a bit of a back and forth. While they were talking, you noticed Quentin staring at the hand resting in Wes’s elbow. Subtly, you removed it and let it fall to your side.

“Y/N?” Laura questioned, bringing you back to reality.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Just asking if you were excited.”

“Oh, um… yeah. Definitely.” It wasn’t _technically_ a lie, but it implied a positivity you certainly didn’t feel. Your stomach had been doing flips the entire way over here as Wes gave you a rundown of the plan.

Quentin’s eyes were still on you, analyzing you, like he could read your every thought. You flashed him a quick smile as if to prove you were alright. You knew he wouldn’t fall for it.

“Right, um… so we’ve got a few things to finish up before Spider-Man gets here, so-”

“Spider-Man?” you intercut, pulled from your anxiety. “That guy from New York? What does he have to do with this?”

Laura cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Wes began to shift back and forth. Quentin, however, remained as cool as ever.

“Give it a couple of hours, Y/N. You’ll find out soon enough.” With that, Quentin left, Laura trailing after him.

Now that Quentin had gone, Wes stuck out his arm again for you to take. “Shall we?”

Hesitantly, you returned your hand to its earlier position and nodded, steeling yourself for what you were about to see.

* * *

“He’ll be here soon,” Wes promised, drying another pint glass. You nervously sipped at the bitter drink in front of you and cringed.

“What even is this?”

“Well, basically, I mixed every liquor I could find and poured it into that glass.”

Shriveling your nose up at the smell and taste, you pushed the glass away from you. “I think I’ll stick with water, thanks.”

Wes shrugged. “Don’t blame me. I’m not a bartender, I just play one on TV.”

“That’s another thing,” you continued, feeling a little lightheaded from Wes’s mixed drink. “Why are we all drinking at a closed-down bar? Why couldn’t we just go to a functional bar after?”

“It’s a private party,” he replied evasively. You gave him a questioning look, and Wes looked like he was about to talk, but then you heard the creak of the door. You began to turn your head to see who had come in, but Wes curtly, quietly said, “Don’t.”

A confused look crossed your face. “Why?”

“Beck is here. With Spider-Man.”

Your eyes widened, but you managed to hiss out a whisper instead of yell in shock. “Spider-Man?”

Wes’s eyes flicked behind you and he nodded.

“What’s he doing here?”

“Getting a drink, I’d bet.”

You gave Wes a withering glare. At that moment, Laura came by and set a tray of empty drinks down on the bartop.

“You two are looking a little too intense. Tone it down a bit.”

Wes smiled cartoonishly and placed new drinks on her tray. Laura rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored him and turned to look at you.

“Are you okay? You seemed a little off before.” She took one of your hands in her own and began rubbing the back with your thumb. It was a pleasant and comforting sensation, and for a moment you thought you might cry, though you weren’t sure why.

Plastering on a smile as fake as the one Wes wore, you nodded encouragingly. “I think this whole thing has just been a bit of an ordeal for me, ya know?”

Laura smiled sweetly in reply and squeezed your hand. “I know, but it’s almost over.”

You knew that was a lie. Maybe not intentionally. Maybe for her, it _was_ the truth. It _would_ be over for Laura and Wes and all of them soon enough. But what about you? Sure, you had grown more comfortable with them in the past few weeks, but at the end of the day, you were a captive. You went where they told you and did what they commanded. And now that you knew what you knew, there was certainly no way they’d ever let you go - no way _he’d_ ever let you go.

You were ripped from your reverie as you watched the illusion around you dissipate. The members of Quentin’s gang who had previously been concealed were now visible, and after a brief moment, everyone began to cheer.

Quentin put on this ridiculous pair of glasses, and began a monologue that made him sound like a villain in a Shakespeare production. He explained about his woes with Stark, the mess with BARF, all the things you knew already. But then… then he started to talk about those glasses (EDITH, he called them) and what they could do. And how he had manipulated Peter Parker (Spider-Man’s alter ego, you guessed) into giving them to him. In one dreadful moment of realization, a pit formed in your stomach. As everyone began toasting this Peter Parker, you snatched your hand from Laura’s and fled outside.

You collapsed onto the nearest bench, trembling and gasping. The door creaked again, and you knew who had followed you out.

“Leaving the party so soon?” Quentin’s words held a foreboding tone, and you didn’t dare to look at him.

“You manipulated that Parker guy into giving you the glasses.”

“I did,” he replied cautiously.

“You’re talented at that,” you remarked, nodding to yourself as you stared at the street and tried to settle your pounding pulse. “A little too talented.”

He didn’t reply, but you heard him take a few steps closer. You spun around to face him, anger and hurt and shame all swirling around within you.

“I suppose that’s what you’ve been doing to me too, isn’t it?” you bit out. “You’ve been doing whatever you can to make me compliant, haven’t you? Toying with my emo-”

“Y/N-”

“Haven’t you?!” you screamed at him. The party raged inside the bar, and you knew no one could hear your outburst.

“No!” he lashed back, anger contorting his beautiful features.

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

“It’s not the same situation at all-”

“How can I trust you, Quentin? How can I trust that you won't use me like that?”

“I’ve been honest with you from the start, Y/N. I’ve never lied to you.”

A sick smile twisted on your face. “Haven’t you though?”

His expression was deadly serious. “What have I lied to you about?”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, and you did!”

“I have never harmed so much as a hair on your head!”

“You kidnapped me and played these sick fucking mind games with me! Maybe you haven’t hit me, Quentin, but what you’ve done to me is just as bad.”

“Need I remind you, honey, you haven’t exactly been a peach either. I seem to recall a few physical outbursts on your part.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“And I would have let you go!” he replied with exasperation. As you took in his words, you paused.

“You ‘would have’?” you asked slowly, the fear returning once more. “As in you won’t anymore?”

Quentin shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t. I meant I would have let you go earlier if you had just cooperated from the start.”

You nodded at him mockingly. “Ah, yes. So if I had just been a good little prisoner I could have gotten out early for good behavior?”

Huffing in frustration, he spoke again. “You keep twisting my words.”

“Or maybe I’m just bringing to light your true intentions.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“Then why don’t you ‘take care of’ me, hmm? Just like you did to Ian. That’d save us both a lot of trouble.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Y/N,” he warned, but you jumped up to face him and kept going.

“Why not? I’m sure everyone else is wondering too. I’m a loose end, Quentin. Why don’t you just tie me up? It’d make your life a hell of a lot easier I’m sure, so why not?”

“ _Because I love you!_ ” he snapped. At his admission, you fell silent. “Is that good enough for you? I mean, c’mon, Y/N. Deep down, you had to know that that’s why. I don’t want to live in a world that you’re not a part of. I couldn’t.”

Finally, you found your voice. It was twisted and bitter when you spoke. “You abducted me because you _love_ me?”

He nodded darkly at you and you scoffed.

“You’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”

He walked over to you, tension holding his shoulders rigid. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know, and _don’t_ pretend you don’t feel the same way.”

At that, your jaw dropped. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Ten years, baby, and you never filed for divorce. You and I both know there’s a reason for that.”

You shook your head in frustration. “You’re delusional.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me.”

“I don’t.”

“ _Liar_ ,” he hissed, entirely too close to your face. He ran a hand down your cheek, a gesture entirely too tender for the current conversation. “I know you feel it too.”

His hand dropped to the strap of your sundress and slid it off your shoulder. You tensed a bit, but said nothing.

“I’ll make you a deal, honey,” he started, toying with the fallen strap. “You tell me to stop and I will.”

He let his hand fall and trace down your side before cupping your back. Again, you said nothing, and he slowly reached for the other strap and tugged it down.

“Hell, I’ll do you one better. Don’t say anything, and I stop. That’s it. No more.” As if to prove his point, he pulled his hands away and held them up. “You can’t pretend to have the moral high ground anymore. You can’t blame it on me seducing you, or- or forcing you, or any of that bullshit. It’s your choice, Y/N. We can stop right here, right now, and-”

Your lips cut off his words as you pinned him against the cool brick wall of the bar. Greedily, hungrily, his hands wrapped back around your torso, running up and down your back and briefly squeezing your ass.

Nudging his head to the side, you sucked on the pulse point of his neck in a way that you knew drove him wild. Letting out a growl, he flipped around so you were the one now pinned to the wall. He ground the bulge in his pants against your center, and you tried to angle your hips up to feel more of the friction.

Out of breath, you pulled away for a second. “How far are we from the hotel?”

His eyes were darkened with lust, and he panted as he replied. “We could hop in the car and be there in three minutes.”

You nodded hastily, and he set you down. As you rushed to the car, your hand was locked in his, and your hormones were reaching excruciating levels. Every so often, he’d glance over at you with _that_ look, and it was all you could do to keep your hands off him as he drove. 

The two of you nearly busted down the door to your suite, slamming it shut behind you before you tackled him to the bed. He kissed along your neck as he began to hike up your dress. Supporting yourself above him with one hand, you used the other to pull off your underwear.

For a moment, he looked hesitant, but you grabbed his jaw and made him stare into your eyes. “ _Touch me,_ Quentin.”

Not needing to be told twice, he reached down and began to tease your clit with his thumb, running the rest of his fingers around your entrance.

“ _Fuck_ , baby, you’re so wet,” he groaned. Flipping you over so now your back was touching his chest, he reached around your hips with his right hand and began to rub your clit in small, quick movements, eliciting hot groans from you.

As his right hand continued its ministrations, the left began to caress your body, fingers running along your breast and squeezing your nipple lightly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.” He growled, hot breath in your ear. In response, you pushed harder against his hand, wanting more of him. With his middle finger, he applied more pressure and quickened his movements. Within a minute, you had come undone in his arms.

Sweating, you tried to catch your breath as he slid out from under you and knelt between your legs. He lapped at your thighs, working his way up to your pussy. With a flattened tongue, he licked up all your juices before focusing his attention back to your clit. He alternated between moving his tongue in small, hard circles and sucking on you. All the while, he rubbed up and down the inside of your left thigh with his hand.

You leaned back on your elbows to get a view of his beautiful face going down on you. Letting your head fall back, you sighed with content as you felt the pressure building in your core. He pushed a few fingers in you, and with the added stimulation you soon climaxed again.

As you caught your breath, he clambered back up next to you, softly kissing your cheek as you tugged at the waistband of his pants. He quickly undressed and returned to his spot next to you, and you began to pump his cock with your right hand. You turned your head to face him, and felt a smug sort of content fill you as you watched his face cloud over with lust.

“How badly do you want me, baby?” you murmured hotly, your breath intertwining with his.

“You have… no idea,” he ground out. As he began to tense up, you realized he was about to come, and you stopped pumping.

“Then fuck me,” you said with a wicked grin.

Returning your look, he deftly climbed above you and, positioning his dick, slid slowly into you. You both groaned at the tight, wet sensation, and he paused a minute to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Baby,” he muttered, kissing you gently. “You feel fucking fantastic.”

Swallowing, you looked into his eyes, running a hand down his cheek. Finally, you allowed yourself to admit what you had been concealing from both Quentin and yourself. You spoke softly back. “I love you, Quentin.”

As you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, his eyes fluttered shut in content. The kiss did not remain sweet for long as your tongues began to tangle again.

Quentin moaned as he began to thrust into you. He tried to keep it at a controlled speed at first, but you could tell he was holding back. Leaning up a bit, you cooed into his ear.

“Give it all to me, baby. As hard and fast as you can.”

He growled in response to your command and cradled your head as he began to quickly pound into you. You couldn’t help but let out small cries with each thrust. You hated how meek you sounded, but it just seemed to egg Quentin on. He reached under your ass and hitched your hips up so he could hit deeper and deeper into you.

Moaning, you began to kiss and lick his neck, his collarbone, any part of him you could reach with your mouth. You could feel him tensing up again, and in a moment he had pulled out of you and spilled his load on the bed.

Looking back up, he locked eyes with you, and you began to giggle.

“What?” He was still smiling, but clearly confused by your laughter.

“We need to leave the housekeeper like the biggest tip ever,” you said, motioning to the mess he had made on the sheets.

Following your hand with his gaze, he began to nod and then started laughing too. Clambering up next to you, he took you in his arms and nuzzled into your neck. And in that moment, curled up in your husband’s warmth, you allowed yourself to imagine that everything was as it used to be. And for the first time in a long time, you felt nothing but peace as you drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE comment, I need to know how y'all feel about this situation (and about my writing of the smut. I felt a little silly while writing it but eh, whatever.)
> 
> I really hope you guys liked this chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry about the wait. My life has been hectic these past few months, and I've really been going through it mental health-wise. But I'm not abandoning this story, and I hope you'll have the patience to stick through it to the end with me!

Sunlight spilled into the room, rousing you from your slumber. For a moment, you were unaware. No memories, no thoughts, just the few rays of sun peeking through the blinds and warming your face. Then, slowly, your hazy head cleared, and you sensed the large body beside you.

Quentin wasn’t awake yet, thank god, so you were able to mull over everything without an audience. Lying there with his bangs messily spread over his forehead, he almost looked innocent. _Almost,_ you emphasized mentally, cheeks heating up as you remembered the events of the previous night.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a huge fucking train wreck. But right now, watching him unconsciously curl closer to you, you didn’t regret what you had done.

You smoothed his hair back gently with your hand, and he blearily opened his eyes. When they finally focused on you, a big grin spread across his face, and your heart clenched. As you continued to stroke his hair, he turned his head and pressed his lips to your wrist. Then, softly, he spoke.

“For a second there, I thought it might have just been a dream.”

“For a second there, so did I,” you replied. Immediately, his soft grin turned into a teasing smirk.

“So you dream about me?”

Sadly, you smiled at him and cupped his cheek with your hand. “Every night.”

Quentin placed his hand over your own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Me too, honey.”

Swallowing quickly, you spoke again. “At some point we need to talk about last night. And about us.”

“I know,” he replied, the smile slowly falling from his face. But you lied back down and curled into his open arms, and the two of you silently agreed that that was a conversation for another time.

* * *

Quentin had gone to meet up with his… colleagues, you guessed was the right word. While he did, you lounged around in bed for a bit and watched the sun rise higher in the sky. After an hour or so, you forced yourself to get up and hop in the shower.

The hot water rinsed the dried sweat from the previous night off your skin, and when you stepped out you caught sight of your body in the mirror. A smattering of hickies had formed on your collarbone and chest, and there were light bruises and a pleasant soreness between your thighs. 

After wringing out your hair with a towel, you pulled on the robe and slippers the hotel had provided and reentered the bedroom. By this point, Quentin had returned. Facing away from you, he was scribbling in a notebook, apparently deep in thought.

“Everything okay?” you asked, not sure if he would answer.

“Parker found out,” he answered curtly. Then, as if sensing your confusion, he spoke again. “He knows about the drones, he knows that I don’t have powers. He can expose me.”

You didn’t know how to respond. As your time with Quentin went on, you had protested his scheme less and less. It was easy to ignore, to imagine that everything was back to normal and that Quentin was the man you married ten years ago (or really five years ago if you excluded the years you had both been Blipped). But he wasn’t the same, and now you weren’t sure how you felt about his plans.

“Get packed,” he said suddenly, snapping the book shut and standing up. “We’re going to Berlin.”

“What’s in Berlin?” you finally spoke, and he turned to look at you for the first time since entering the room. And stopped.

Even though the robe covered you, and even after the events of the previous night, your cheeks heated up as his eyes ran up and down your body.

Softly clearing your throat, you expected him to snap out of it and answer your question. But instead, he slowly walked over to you and began untying the belt of the robe. For a bizarre moment, you felt like a Christmas present being unwrapped and you giggled a little.

Curiously, he smiled at you, but you just shook your head and he continued to undress you. The robe dropped to the ground, and you gently pushed him down on the bed and began to kiss along his jaw.

“You should definitely leave those on,” he smirked, motioning towards the hotel slippers still on your feet.

“Is this turning you on, baby?” you asked in a husky voice, prompting a chuckle from him.

“So much,” he replied with a grin as he gently moved you off of him so he could pull off his shirt. As he did that, you undid his pants and slid them off his legs. As you crawled back up to face him, Quentin ran a hand through your wet hair tenderly, and you leaned in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

As passionate and desperate as last night had been, this time it was slow and soft. Instead of bites, sweet kisses were planted along each other’s necks, torsos, thighs. Instead of wild abandon, there was loving care.

You grinned and moaned softly when Quentin entered you, and with each slow thrust he kissed you. Your heart swelled as you gazed into each other’s eyes, and you placed a hand on the center of his back to draw him closer to you. His movements quickened as he got closer to the edge, and you watched his face contort as he climaxed.

As Quentin rolled off of you, you expected him to get up and pull his clothes back on. But then, Quentin had always been generous. You remembered this fact well as he crouched between your legs and began to eat you out. Easily, he slid one finger into you, then two, and soon enough he had you trembling in his arms.

“Baby…” you murmured, twisting your fingers into his hair and arching your back slightly. If his face hadn’t been buried between your legs, you were sure you would have seen a smug smile gracing it.

You began to tense up as you got closer and closer, finally shuddering as you climaxed. As the sensation rolled over your body, your muscles relaxed. Quentin crawled back up beside you and you kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. He took one of your hands into his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

After holding you close for a few minutes, he kissed your forehead again and got up to get dressed. You pouted jokingly when he pulled his underwear back on, and he smirked back at you. Following his lead, you pulled out a fresh set of clothes and prepared for the day ahead of you.

The two of you met up with Laura and Wes in the lobby, and both immediately noticed Quentin’s arm around you. Wisely, they said nothing, though you were sure you saw a disapproving look on Wes’s face.

“We all ready to go?” Quentin asked. Wes nodded and grabbed your bags, rolling them over to one of two identical cars. With confusion, you saw Quentin load the second car with his own bags. You followed him over to the trunk and placed a hand on his arm.

“You’re not coming with me?” Although you tried to keep the hurt out of your voice, it leaked through.

“Laura and I are taking this car to the airport, and we’re taking the private plane from there with a few others and the drones,” he answered apologetically. “I need to get to Berlin as soon as possible to find out what Parker knows.”

Jealousy curled inside your stomach like smoke when he said he was taking Laura on the plane and not you. He must have sensed your discontent because he leaned down next to your ear and growled softly.

“If I weren’t in such a rush, it’d be just you and me on that plane, fucking the entire way to Berlin.” 

Knowing the car was blocking Wes and Laura’s view, he softly nibbled on the shell of your ear, eliciting a small gasp from you. Then he pulled away and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

Smiling and quickly squeezing your chin, he said, “I’ll see you in Berlin.”

You walked back to your car, passing Laura on the way and flashing her a smile. When you got in the passenger seat, you sensed a tension with Wes. Instead of acknowledging it, he remained silent for most of the long journey. After about an hour or two of you talking at him and getting short responses, you finally snapped.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

Eyes glued to the road, he shook his head and answered. “Let’s not start, Y/N.”

“This is going to be a really long car ride if we don’t talk. Come on, you’re clearly upset with me.”

He muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“Not with you.”

“Then with whom?” He refused to answer, and understanding dawned on you. “Quentin?”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I think it’s for the best if we just drop it.”

“Tell me,” you demanded, refusing to let it go. He sighed. 

“Now, I’m only saying this because you haven’t given me any other choice,” he paused as if expecting you to interrupt, but you said nothing. “I watched you leave with Quentin last night.”

“You were… you were spying on me? On us?” you asked indignantly.

“No! Or not purposefully, at the very least. I noticed you were both missing, I grew concerned, I came outside, and… well, you were in a compromising position, to say the least. And then the two of you practically bolted to the car, and I can only imagine what happened from there-”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business to imagine what happened from there,” you replied, the coldness in your voice juxtaposing the heat in your face. He groaned again.

“This is why I didn’t want to bring it up, Y/N.”

“Then you should have treated me normally when I got in the car instead of ignoring me.”

Wes didn’t reply. Fired up, you continued.

“So, what? You disapprove or something?”

“To put it frankly, yes.”

“Why?”

A strangled laugh escaped his mouth. “ _Why?_ Y/N, the man kidnapped you.”

“A kidnapping that _you_ were party to,” you shot back.

“But I’m not the one with whom you’re pursuing a relationship.”

“So what, are you jealous or something?” You asked incredulously. He paused for a moment, and then ignored your question.

“I’m concerned that you might just have Stockholm syndrome. That this is just your mind adapting to a difficult situation as a survival method, and that you’re going to regret this.”

“I appreciate your concern,” you snarled. “But I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you do. I mean, a man who would manipulate and plan to kill a teenager-”

“What?” You cut him off sharply. “What are you talking about, what teenager?”

Wes’s voice dropped to a dark tone. “You didn’t see him at the bar, Quentin wanted us to make sure of that.”

Your stomach dropped. _Peter Parker._

“Wes,” you spoke slowly, heart thumping in your chest. “How old is Spider-Man?”

Taking in a deep breath, he responded. “He’s in high school. Around 16, I believe.”

Your stomach began to flip. “ _Pull the car over._ ”

Wes did as commanded, and with seconds to spare you got out and hurled on the grass. When you stood up, Wes was standing by with a napkin, a bottle of water, and a pitying expression.

You hadn’t really understood the implications of what Quentin had said earlier. That Parker might know the truth about him meant that Parker might have to be eliminated. You were too focused on your own jealousy to truly understand that earlier. God, and now that you knew that he was just a high schooler, just a _kid_... 

“Wes… why are we going to Berlin?”

“He wants to find out what Parker knows, who else he might have told, and then…”

“And then take care of them,” you finished softly. At Wes’s nod, another wave of nausea hit you and you emptied your stomach again. Falling to your knees, you buried your head in your hands began to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think, and again I'm so sorry for the wait!


	11. Chapter 11

Hot tears ran silently down your cheeks. You had been so fucking _blind_! You knew Quentin was unstable when you left him – why did you think that had suddenly changed? That trying to turn himself into a hero, an idol was a sign of progress, of a healthy mind?

Of course not. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? You knew what he was - you always had. But you had ignored it, and for what? Love? 

And now… now this Parker kid and whomever he told would die. And you would be complicit.

As if reading your mind, Wes spoke up. “This isn’t your fault, you know. Their… their deaths.”

The last word sounded strangled, like he had to force it out of his mouth because it would not go willingly. You shook your head, wiping away the tears. 

“I was so stupid,” you muttered. “He showed me who he was a long time ago and I didn’t- I _refused_ to believe it.”

“He’s clever like that,” Wes replied, too kindly for how you felt. 

“I just wanted my husband back, I wanted everything back to the way it was before this and the Blip and fucking B.A.R.F. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Your voice was pleading, but you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. Yourself, maybe. As if overlooking Quentin’s wrongdoings - hell, even enabling them - didn’t make you just as guilty as him.

Inhaling deeply and shakily, you tried to steady yourself. When you were sure you could speak without your voice cracking, you turned to Wes. 

“I need you to get me there as quickly as possible.”

Wes shook his head in disbelief. “What will you do? Confront him?”

“I’m going to stop him.” In your voice, there was a certainty that did not match the wavering in your mind, in your heart. 

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to stop Quentin. Maybe he would lose the last bit of goodness in him, and you would lose him forever. There were so many ways it could all go wrong, but hell if you weren’t going to at least try.

During the remainder of the ride, time moved too fast and too slow all at once. That horrible knot in your stomach twisted tighter as you got closer to your fate. 

When you finally arrived at the hotel, you rushed inside to the front desk.

Breathless, you spoke to the receptionist. “My husband should have arrived by now, Mr. and Mrs. Quentin Beck?”

The Becks. Mister and Missus. It felt like a dark joke. Either not noticing on not caring about the grimace on your face, the receptionist handed over your room key and pointed out which way to go. 

Wes appeared beside you, seemingly to accompany you to the room, but you stopped him. 

“I need to do this alone.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t protest. “I don’t need to remind you how dangerous he can be.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know him better than anyone.”

“I suppose you do,” Wes agreed, concern still evident on his face. “Be careful.”

”Always am,” you replied with a hollow smile, turning away to seek out your husband.

* * *

When you turned the key and opened the door, Quentin was lounging on the bed, looking unkempt but unhurt. When he caught sight of you, he grinned and it made you want to weep. 

“Took you long enough to get here,” he joked, standing up and wrapping you in a hug. You remained stiff, knowing that if you allowed yourself even a moment of weakness, your resolve might completely disintegrate. 

Immediately, he knew something was wrong, and pulled away to size you up with confused eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Where have you been, Quentin?” Your voice didn’t come out nearly as strong as you had intended, and there was an eerie ring to it.

“What?”

“What have you been doing between the time you arrived in Berlin and now? Why did you need to get to here so quickly?”

At first, he misinterpreted your line of questioning and smiled kindly at you. “Honey, you can’t seriously think Laura and I did anything, she has a wife back home-”

“I know, Quentin.”

The confused look returned to his face. “Know what?”

“Spider-Man,” you bit out, trying to keep your composure. “Peter Parker. He’s just a kid, Quentin. And you want to kill him.”

“Ah.”

Quentin’s demeanor shifted subtly, but drastically. He was on the defensive, like a cornered animal. 

When he didn’t speak again, you grew angry. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you wouldn’t kill anybody, that you wouldn’t kill a _child_.”

Mixed in with his defensiveness, there was now guilt. Softly, he responded. “Would you prefer the truth? Or a lie?”

A sob wrenched from your throat as you shoved his chest. Wildly, angrily, you began punching and pounding through that stupid mocap suit. After giving you a few seconds, he grabbed your hands to stop the barrage.

“Y/N, I know you don’t understand completely right now, but I thought you had started to see things my way. That this world needs a new champion, someone they can believe in.”

“But at what cost, Quentin? All these lives?” You knelt before him next to the bed. “Your soul?”

He began to stroke your cheek with a finger, but you jerked your face away and he let his hand fall to his side. 

“I want to be with you,” he said softly, and a spark of hope flickered in your chest as you looked into his eyes. 

“Then be with me, Quentin. Forget about Tony and the Avengers and fucking SHIELD. Forget about Peter Parker. We can leave right now, disappear. We’re clever enough, we can figure it out,” you pleaded, taking his face in your hands. 

Tears ran down your face as you kissed each of his cheeks and then his lips. Pressing your forehead against his, you closed your eyes and whispered to him. “I love you, Quentin. Please… please come with me.”

He tilted his lips up to kiss your forehead and murmured softly against your skin. “I love you too.”

_Zzzttt!_

Before you could realize what was happening, he had handcuffed your right wrist to the bedpost. The spark of hope you had felt died out as you began to panic.

“No no no no no,” you moaned, yanking uselessly at the metal cuffs. Awkwardly, he scooped you up and onto the bed. You shoved back at him, but there was only so much you could do with one hand. Easily, he grabbed ahold of your left wrist and cuffed that to the bed as well. 

Making sure he was out of your kicking range, he gave you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, baby, but I just can’t lose you again. Not now that I just got you back.”

“Let me out of these!” you cried out, furious at how easily had managed to trick you. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours to let you out, I swear. Not like last time, I promise, honey.” As he turned to face the door, you stopped struggling. 

“Quentin,” you called out hoarsely, making him pause and turn around. “Despite everything, I still thought there was good in you, that there was still some of the man I married under the surface, but… Quentin if you kill him, if you kill anyone… that’s it. I’m done. I’ll know you can’t be saved, and there will be no possible way for me to love you anymore. This is something I won’t be able to forgive.”

For a moment, it looked as though he might say something, but he just shook his head bitterly and left. In that moment, you knew you had lost Quentin Beck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end here, just a few more chapters to go :( As always please let me know what you think of this chapter! Hearing from you guys keeps me going!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done here, friends! Just another chapter or two to go now. I hope you're all staying safe and healthy in these crazy times, and hopefully this chapter will take away at least a little bit of your boredom.

Not long after Quentin left, you heard a knock at the door.

“Y/N?”

You almost cried in relief as you heard Wes’s voice.

“He cuffed me, I can’t get out!” you yelled.

“Alright, give me a second.”

There was a scraping at the door and after a bit, it swung open. Entering the room with a lock pick set in hand, Wes kicked the door closed behind him and rushed over to you.

“You’re lucky they have regular locks and keys instead of the swipe cards, I’m not sure I’d be able to get in without breaking down the door.”

“Yes, I feel so very lucky,” you deadpanned, jiggling the cuffs for emphasis.

“Perhaps you could show some kindness to the person who’s about to free you,” he suggested, gently grabbing your wrists to access the cuffs. You heard a click, and were soon rubbing your wrists where the metal had bit them.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, thoughts now focused on what Quentin was doing.

“I’m guessing you didn’t convince him?” The question would have sounded sarcastic had he not used such a soft tone.

Shaking your head miserably, you felt a burning in your nose as you held back tears. “Apparently he cares more about his fucking revenge fantasy than about me.”

Wes slid down next to you, leaning against the bed.

“This plan has been in the works for years. I don’t think he ever thought - ever _dreamed_ that you would return to him. For so long, there’s only been this one goal for him. For all of us, really.”

“Why are you even part of this? I know why Quentin and Laura hate Stark, but I’ve never even heard you mention him.”

Wes paused for a moment before speaking. “To tell the truth, I had never even interacted with the man. The rest of my colleagues each have their own special ‘I Hate Tony Stark’ story to drive them, but I… that’s not what I’m here for.”

Again, he paused. “Were you in New York back in 2012 during the battle?”

You shook your head.

“I was in grad school there at the time. When I say it was hell on Earth… I thought I would die, Y/N. I _watched_ people die. No one I knew, thankfully, but it’s hard to understand that feeling of helplessness until you’ve experienced it firsthand. 

“One minute you’re staring down an alien spaceship with no way to defend yourself, and the next a literal god smacks it in the face with his hammer. It’s a lot to bear, but it’s comforting to know that someone just as powerful is on your side. That’s what I wanted to do for people. That’s what I wanted Mysterio to be.”

“But you didn’t count on your coworkers' need for revenge.”

“Naivety on my part. I knew how they felt about him, but I was foolish enough to think they were as idealistic as I am. I was wrong.”

“Wes… I don’t think I can stop him. I don’t even want to try. I- I’m terrified of him, of who he’s become,” you admitted, hot shame coursing under your skin.

He turned to face you, taking your hand into his own. “You don’t have to, Y/N, we can just go. He thinks you’re still cuffed to the bed. By the time he realizes you’re gone, we’ll be hours ahead of him.”

You paused, taking a shaky breath. “He’ll be furious.”

Squeezing your hand, Wes radiated reassurance. “He’ll never find you.”

Inhaling shakily, you nodded and he pulled you into a tight, comforting hug.

“We should probably try to hop between a few locations before heading back to the States, it’ll make us harder to track. Where do you want to go?”

You said the first city that popped into your mind. “I bet London is pretty this time of year.”

* * *

Deciding it was best to avoid planes for fear of leaving a trail, you and Wes hopped back in the car. You drove all day until you hit Amsterdam. There, Wes pulled out a wad of cash and booked two overnight tickets for the ferry to Harwich under a pseudonym. When you woke up, you’d be docked in England, take a train to London, and lay low for a bit until it felt safe to fly. The plan seemed foolproof, and it was.

What you didn’t take into account, however, was that Quentin was not a fool.

* * *

After getting the names from Parker and helping him catch his train, Quentin decided to stop at a small shop on the way home. Originally he was just planning on getting some ointment for your wrists (after the last time, he knew they would be sore), but the store also sold small bouquets and he figured what the hell, maybe that would alleviate your anger a bit too. 

Leaving you chained to the bed while he went to deal with Parker was the hardest thing Quentin had had to do in a long time. The look on your face when he left… it just broke his heart. He knew you’d be furious, but he’d make it up to you. The five years (or technically decade, Blip-inclusive) had changed the both of you. He was stronger-willed now, more determined and disciplined. He could do it now, he could be the hero — be YOUR hero.

And you, you had become more understanding, he was certain of that. You had seen the ugliest side of him and still you’d come back. You were more trusting, or at least learning to be, and that was enough for Quentin. He had hurt you, he freely admitted that. Those issues he had were the result of passion under strain. But that stress was gone! Everything was finally working out for him, for the both of you.

Or so he thought. Really, he should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the hotel lobby. Immediately, the receptionist marched over and began shouting in angry German.

“No sprechen Sie deutsch,” Quentin replied in bad German, and the receptionist gave him an incredulous look before shouting again.

“ _Ihre Frau hat das Schloss aufgebrochen!_ ”

Quentin didn’t speak German, but he knew what _Frau_ meant. Agitation stirred in his chest as he headed off in the direction of your room, followed close behind by the receptionist. The room key wouldn’t fit the lock, so Quentin shook the handle until it snapped down and the door swung open.

He froze, eyes glued to the lockpick set on the nightstand. Blinding rage filled his soul as he hurled your gifts across the room. As Quentin continued his outburst, the receptionist turned on his heel and rushed off away from the room.

By the time Quentin had calmed down, the room was all but destroyed. He pulled a few hundreds from his wallet and tossed them on the desk for whoever would have to clean up his mess.

Okay, so maybe you hadn’t had as much trust in him as he thought. That was disappointing, but in truth he hadn’t been the most trusting either. Pulling out his phone, he brought up a passcode-protected app. Swiping around, zooming a bit, his eyes finally locked on to what they sought. Wes’s phone was on the move somewhere in the Netherlands, likely along with Wes, and likely along with you.

“He should’ve joined the kid on that train ride,” he mused out loud. He’d let you run around for a bit while he staged the final battle. And when that was over, when all of that had settled down… he’d take back what was his.

Unstable, Stark had called him all those years ago.

Maybe he had been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, they help inspire me to keep going :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter before the epilogue! Thank you guys for joining me on this journey, and I hope you like the final two chapters!

Wes’s hand felt uncomfortable in your own, wrong even. A married couple traveling together would be less conspicuous, Wes had reasoned. You had picked up some cheap wedding bands at a small pawn shop when you arrived in Harwich, and the rub of someone else’s gold against your skin felt like a betrayal.

As the train chugged through the countryside, you stared out the window. It was kind of incredible how, despite the fact that it was summer, the London sky was bleak. Part of you mused that it was fitting, that the weather matched your disposition (although the more logical part of you knew that England was a fairly cloudy place for most of the year anyway).

You glanced down at the ring again. The inscription inside the band read, Our love is eternal. “Apparently not,” you had muttered upon reading it for the first time.

After almost a full day of travel, you finally checked into a London hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Chet Thompson. The name sounded pretentious, you thought, but Wes thought it just sounded British.

Dropping your bags on the floor, you turned to Wes. “I think I’m gonna take a shower, I feel kinda gross right now.”

Wes nodded. “I’ll pick up some lunch. Any requests? Fish and chips?”

“Anything but fish.” You answered, scrunching up your nose.

“Picky eater?”

“Not usually, I just can’t stand the smell.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, lithely rolling off the bed and jumping up to a standing position. “See you soon, Mrs. Thompson.”

“See you soon, Mr. Thompson.”

Wes didn’t return until after you had dried your hair and gotten dressed. When he arrived, you were surprised to see he had no food in tow.

“Where’s lunch?” He didn’t reply, and you noticed the pallor of his face.

“Y/N,” he spoke gravely, and your stomach turned at the dread in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know, Y/N, I swear I didn’t know-”

“Know _what_ , Wes?”

“Beck is here. In London. This is where he chose to fight the last elemental.”

“How can you be sure?”

“It was on the news at the shop. He’s on the Tower Bridge, that’s not far from here.”

You got tunnel vision and you began to shake. “You brought me to him?”

“No, Y/N, I swear to god, I don’t know why he chose here. We don’t even know if he knows you’re here!”

You laughed humorlessly. “Of fucking course he does, Wes. Because at some point last night he came back and I was gone. You think it’s a coincidence that he chose London? Out of everywhere in Europe, you expect me to believe it’s a coincidence?”

Wes was floundering, his mouth gaping and closing like a fish.

“Either you told him, or he just magically found us.”

“Well, it would have to be the latter, because I would never purposefully…” he trailed off, horror dawning on his face. Suddenly, he ran out of the room.

Terror and anger overwhelming you, you slipped on your shoes and chased after him. As it turned out, you didn’t have to run further than the sidewalk outside the hotel. You watched in confusion as he pulled out his phone and dropped it into a sewer grate.

“What are you _doing_?” you asked, the disbelief evident in your voice.

Wes flipped around, distress on his face. “He must have tracked my phone, that’s the only explanation. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I wasn’t thinking, it’s all my fault.”

He continued with his apologies until you waved your hands to stop him.

“Wes… if he was tracking your phone, he must at least know that we were here. We can’t stay.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re right.” He nodded at your words, though he didn’t look at you as he spoke. “We can get to Heathrow. It’s about an hour away, but we can buy tickets on the way-”

“How? You just dumped your phone down a sewer, it’s probably halfway across the city by now.”

He paused. “Right, okay, so we’ll get tickets once we get there.”

“We’ll leave a paper trail, he’ll be able to find out where we went.”

“Right, right… wait, no,” Wes said, perking up a bit. “No, we’ll buy the tickets, but we won’t get on the plane. He’ll be chasing the wind. I have an old friend from Stark Industries, we used to take smoke breaks together. I think he can help us get out of the country.”

You cocked a brow at him. “Your smoke break buddy is going to help smuggle us out of London?”

For the first time since he had returned from the restaurant, Wes smiled. “Yeah. He is.”

* * *

Happy Hogan was having a rough fuckin’ day. The kid looked like he’d be run over – well, he _had_ been run over. And then getting into London without prior permission? He was sure the jet would be shot down. And _then_ they finally make it and land right in the middle of a terrorist attack.

So when his phone started ringing and he saw the call was from an unknown number, he almost didn’t pick up. Almost.

“Who is this?”

“Happy, it’s Wes Roberts!”

“Yeah, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now- shit!” He ducked as a drone flew over his head and crashed into the wall behind him.

“Happy are you in London?!”

“Yeah, and like I said it’s a bad time-”

“Happy I’m here too! I need help getting out!”

At those words, Happy froze. Pinching his nose, he groaned. “Alright, alright, can you get to the Tower of London?”

“That’s right in the middle of the attack!”

“Yeah, and it’s where the plane is.”

“Alright, we’ll be there.”

“Wait, _we_? Who’s we?” Happy asked incredulously, but the line had already gone dead.

* * *

London was on lockdown. No taxis were on the road to take you to the Tower, and so you and Wes set off on foot.

“How will we know where to meet him?” you asked, slightly out of breath from the jog you were maintaining.

“Well, I believe he’ll be standing next to the only jet parked by the Tower of London,” Wes quipped, though you were in no mood to joke.

Meeting Happy in the midst of Quentin’s big show seemed like a terrible idea to you, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. Wes assured you that Quentin would be too far away and too busy to notice you. Still, it felt like you were walking into a viper pit. 

It wasn’t hard to find the Tower – you just followed the sound of chaos until you were right in the middle of it. The jet, however, was harder to find than expected.

“The only jet parked by the Tower of London and we can’t find it.” You parroted Wes’s earlier words back at him.

“In my defense, on any other day that would have been good enough.”

“Just bad luck, I guess,” you replied sarcastically. As you said that, you heard a blaring car horn and jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit. Unfortunately, when you turned back to ask Wes if he was alright, you realized you had lost him. _Super bad luck._

But it was fine, right? As long as you didn’t panic. You just needed to find a jet, that should be simple enough. _Find the Tower, find the jet. Easy._

You were torn from your thoughts as everything went silent around you. People were still running and screaming, cars were still crashing, buildings were being destroyed, and you heard none of it. 

At first you thought you might have gone deaf, but then he spoke.

“Twice now, you’ve left without bothering to say goodbye.”

You didn’t reply, not trusting your own voice.

“Ya know, I thought we were really getting somewhere. That we had both grown as people, that we were starting to understand each other better. And then you run off on me, _again_?”

You swallowed hard, taking a step away from him. That seemed to enrage him even more.

“You _still_ think I’d hurt you?”

Finally, you found your voice. “I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore, Quentin. There’s no reasoning with you.”

“Because I’m not reasonable, Y/N? Because I’m crazy?”

“Because you were willing to kill a _child_ to get what you want. I’ve excused a lot from you, and that was wrong. And now there’s a teenage boy lying dead somewhere and it’s your fault.”

Quentin grew quiet. “Despite what you might think, I didn’t want him dead. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But Peter figured it out, he would have undermined everything I’ve been working towards. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did. You made your choice, Quen, and you didn’t choose me. You chose power, because that’s more important to you than your wife.”

Tears began to roll down your face, and you wiped them away with your left hand. After you had dropped your hand back down to your side, you noticed a change on Quentin’s face. The remorse had slipped away and been replaced with something far more dangerous.

“What is on your hand?” he growled. Too late, you realized you were still wearing the ring from the pawn shop. “‘My wife,’ huh? Then whose ring are you wearing?”

“It- it’s not-” you stammered, but he cut you off.

“Is that it? That’s why you left with Roberts?” His face had twisted with betrayal and rage. “You’re fucking him? You _love_ him?”

“Quentin, no! I’m not-”

“I should have fucking seen it. I always got a weird vibe off the guy, but I trusted _you_.” Although he was addressing you, it seemed more like he was talking to himself. 

Suddenly, he paused, as if listening for something. The rage on his face only deepened.

“I have some pressing business to attend to, honey, but we _will_ discuss this later. I’ll find you once this is all over.”

With that last promise (or more accurately, threat), he disappeared into thin air. As suddenly as he had left, the noise returned, and you clamped your hands over your ears at the inundation of sound.

When your ears had acclimated, your focus shifted to one thing: finding the goddamn jet. You tried to stop passersby to ask which building was the Tower of London, but they just ran past you.

Finally, _finally,_ your eyes landed on the jet, and you sprinted towards it – and watched in horror as it blew up. With it went your last shred of hope.

Wes was nowhere to be found. You had no idea what Happy looked like. Your best bet, you figured, was to take shelter near where the jet had been, and then wait to see if Wes showed up. Finding a small nook, you squeezed yourself in and waited.

You watched for what felt like hours as destruction rained down from above. Curiously, you noticed that the drones were no longer projecting an image of the elemental, but were instead attacking unconcealed. You didn’t know why Quentin had removed the illusion, but you knew the drones were no less dangerous for it.

Abruptly, the drones swarmed upwards towards the Tower Bridge. Your heart sank as you realized that Quentin must have called them up there to attack someone. You heard the loud ricochet of bullets, and then the drones went silent.

Trying to understand what had happened, you slowly came out of your hiding space. The drones were gone, and the screams and cries died down around you as others seemed to realize this as well.

_It’s probably another trick,_ your brain warned you, but you somehow knew it was real. Still, you stayed in place for another 15 minutes until your ears caught a sound.

“Happy, thank god you’re alright!” Your head snapped around as you saw a beefy man embrace Spider-Man. _He’s alive!_

As fast as your legs could carry you, you ran to the pair.

“Are you Happy Hogan?” you asked breathlessly, alarming the man before you.

“Uh, who’s asking?”

“My friend Wes told me you could help us escape. Is he with you?”

Happy’s eyes darkened as he shook his head. “He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

You felt like all the wind had been knocked out of you. “You’re sure?”

He nodded, and the tears began to roll freely down your cheeks.

“I’ll still help you get out of here, although I’m not sure that’s necessary anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Mysterio, the guy who did all of this?” He gestured around at the destruction. “He’s dead.”

Your heart caught in your throat. “What?”

“It’s true,” Spider-Man interjected gravely. “I saw it myself.”

For a moment, you stared at the boy.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” you told him earnestly, and he tilted his head to the side in polite confusion.

“Uh, thanks. Me too! I mean, I’m glad _you’re_ alive, not that I’m alive… but I’m also glad I’m alive!”

Despite his chipper tone, you could see Spider-Man was exhausted, and you smiled sadly at him.

True to his word, Happy arranged for you to travel with them back to New York on a different private jet. Everyone was drained emotionally and physically, so for the most part no one tried to talk to you. And it was for the best, really. You cried almost the entire way back home – for Quentin, for Wes, for you, for everyone.

It was strange to think that this all had happened to you within the course of a few weeks. Venice felt like a lifetime ago, and now most of the people you knew from that time period were dead and gone. 

You wondered if Laura had made it out okay. Despite everything she’d done, you still hoped she would make it back to her wife safely. 

You didn’t want her to feel as alone and lost as you did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue is almost completely written, so I should have it out within the next two weeks. In the meantime, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! We're almost there!


End file.
